A Time To Heal
by Evie Delacourt
Summary: In the aftermath of The Killing Season, as the Kingdom of Gwynedd begins to recover from the effects of the fever-flux epidemic and Count Teymuraz' assassination attempt on King Kelson, Duke Dhugal has to learn how to deal with the unforeseen consequences of a decision made in haste. Sequel story to The Killing Season.
1. Chapter 1

_Ecclesiastes 3:1-4- To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:_

_A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;_

_A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;_

_A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance._

**A Time to Heal**

**Chapter One**

_November 15, 1132_

_ Duke of Cassan's apartments, Rhemuth_

"It's good to see you back for a little while!" Kelson Haldane greeted his blood-brother with a welcoming grin as he watched Dhugal direct his entourage in unpacking and storing his belongings.

"It's good to be back. I just wish we could've arrived a day earlier to make it in time for your birthday festivities. We had more of a delay in Transha than I'd anticipated." Dhugal finished instructing his men in where he wanted everything set up in the unfamiliar new quarters and turned his attention back to the King. He gestured invitingly towards a smaller room outside of the ongoing bustle. The two men entered the smaller chamber, shutting the door behind them.

"How is Araxie?" Dhugal asked as he took a seat across from the one Kelson had chosen.

"She's well. Her morning sickness has mostly stopped, so she's even talking to me again," Kelson joked. "She plans to stop by here later and make sure you have all the furnishings you need."

"The rooms look fine." Dhugal smiled, although there was a hint of shadowed pain in his eyes with the reply. He had not wanted to return to the same rooms he had once shared with his late wife, had not wished to sleep in the same bed again that she had taken her last breaths in, so with his return to Rhemuth, new accommodations had been quietly arranged for.

"So, how have your lands fared over your long absence this summer?" the King asked. "Have you had a chance to catch up yet?"

Dhugal closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Yes, finally, but don't remind me! Sweet Jesú, it was nightmarish, at first!" He reopened his eyes to fix his gaze on Kelson. "I lost a quarter of my officers in Cassan to the fever-flux, either through death or temporary incapacity, not to mention nearly that many in Kierney and Transha." He sighed. "You knew I'd lost Sir Judd, yes?"

Kelson nodded. "Yes, you received word of that not long before you left Rhemuth. He was serving as your second during Ciard's absences, wasn't he?"

"Aye. Ciard is serving as steward again for me for the duration, but he's still training up someone who can fill his place when I require his presence here in Rhemuth or in the field. I need Jass by my side too much to spare him, but old Lambert's grown weary of the constant traveling, and the men trust him." He glanced out a window, taking in the unaccustomed view. "I came very close to losing Lord Deveril in Cassan, but he finally pulled through."

Kelson arched a brow at him. "That would've been a great loss. He was seneschal in your father's time, was he not, and Duke Jared's before him?"

"Aye, and Duke Andrew's before him, I believe. He's been seneschal there since…oh, when was it he told me once? 1083? Your grandfather was King, I believe. There's a wealth of irreplaceable experience in that man."

"Yes, there is," Kelson said as he thought back on the man he'd met briefly during the fateful visit, early on in his reign, to Duke Jared's court for what was to have been a wedding but ended up becoming a funeral instead. He frowned slightly, realizing that he'd probably not have a better time like the present to broach the delicate topic that he'd come to address with Dhugal. "Speaking of your Duchy of Cassan, Dhugal, I've been considering your request for the hand of the Lady Mirjana de Furstana, and now that I've had time to think through all of the potential ramifications, I'm afraid I'm going to have to deny it after all." He raised a hand to forestall the protest he already saw brewing in Dhugal's eyes. "No, hear me out. I shall allow you to remarry in due time—I do understand your need for more heirs—and I've also given the matter of Mirjana's protection some additional thought, but there are pressing reasons why I can't allow _this_ match."

"Kel..." The amber-colored eyes stared at him in shock, and Dhugal's face grew pale. "I wish you'd said something ten days ago, when I stopped by for the day to let you know we'd finished the Transfer Portal construction in Cassan, and that my retinue would be arriving here in Rhemuth in mid-month."

Kelson gave his blood-brother a puzzled look. "Why should it matter if I said something ten days ago or now? Either way, you've simply made an offer to the lady, not a commitment..." Something about the look in Dhugal's eyes made him trail off. "Dhugal…?"

His Border Duke closed his eyes, stark anguish on his features. "Kelson, the last time we spoke of the lady, you told me that if I had Liam-Lajos's consent to the match, you wouldn't oppose it. The only condition you put to that was that I had to wait until November before I could enter into any sort of binding agreement with the lady." He opened his eyes. "Since I believed that to still be the case, I entered into a betrothal covenant with Lady Mirjana when I was here in Rhemuth last."

"But…you were only here for a few hours, and that was…." Kelson paused, trying to remember the date of Dhugal's recent brief visit to Rhemuth.

"November the fifth." Dhugal sighed. "I'm sorry, Kel."

Kelson tightened his lips. "Oh, not nearly as sorry as I am, or as you will probably end up being!" He stared at his Cassani Duke. "Dhugal, did your men have _no_ objection when you mentioned your plans to remarry?" A sudden thought occurred to him. "You _did_ inform them, I hope?"

Dhugal sighed, studying the toes of his boots. "Aye, I did. And they were hardly overjoyed. They understand my need to remarry eventually, but…." Dhugal stared out the window again. "Deveril would've preferred for me to wait out the year also. I suppose he was right. Maybe you all were. I had hoped, if I just got it out of the way already, before I lost my nerve…."

The King watched his blood-brother a long moment, his face grim. Dhugal was tightly shielded, but his pale face and tight expression betrayed some of his thoughts. "But getting betrothed didn't help, did it?" he asked softly.

The Duke shook his head slowly. "No. I knew, just as soon as I said the vows, that it didn't solve a thing. I don't want Mirjana, I just want…." He gripped the arm of his chair tightly until he had a better grip on his emotions. "I just want my old life back. Only that's never going to happen, is it?"

Kelson suppressed a wince at the flat despondency in his friend's voice. "No. That wasn't the solution." He sighed. "But now, unless we can find some cause for the Church to grant you a dispensation from your betrothal—which I fully intend to ask for—I suppose you'll have to figure out a way forward from here." Kelson cocked his head at Dhugal curiously. "So, Deveril and your other officers were only concerned about you remarrying in haste? They didn't have any qualms about you bringing home a Torenthi bride?"

Dhugal shook his head. "Honestly, the matter didn't come up." He looked at Kelson, who arched an eyebrow at him. "But why would…." The light dawned. "Oh, sweet Jesú, you can't believe they'd hold the old enmities against _her, _do you? She had nothing to do with Wencit of Torenth, and that was eleven years ago! She was just a child…what, eight at the time? No one in their right mind would think she was in complicity with what happened to the men of Cassan and Kierney in a battle over half her lifetime ago!"

"Dhugal, they can and they would," Kelson said impatiently. "Have you forgotten so quickly that in even _less_ than eleven years ago, your own father was nearly burned at a stake for the 'crime' of belonging to the same race of people who reigned unjustly _two whole centuries ago_? It's human nature to hold grudges, nurse prejudices and be irrational!"

"But we've been in peaceful alliance with Torenth since Liam-Lajos came into his majority…."

"Yes, and the people of Gwynedd—not to mention the people of Torenth—are still learning how to adjust to that! It's still far too early to tell if that truce will continue—God knows I _hope_ it shall, since I've pledged two cousins in marriages to strengthening the alliance!—but a lot also depends on what our peoples will accept, and the old suspicions and distrust don't just die overnight. For the men of Cassan, it could take far longer for them to accept a Torenthi Duchess than it did for them to accept a Deryni Duke. After all, Duncan was Duke of Cassan before you, and they'd known _him_ for his entire life before his Deryni bloodline became known to all. It was pretty much a given they'd not balk at continuing to follow him—or his son—once they knew. But Dhugal, at least the _Deryni_ didn't impale, behead, or hang half the bloody Cassani and Kierney army in one afternoon a mere eleven years ago! How in the hell are you going to protect your Torenthi bride from her own distant kinsman Teymuraz, when you'll have to be on constant guard just to protect her from your own kinsmen as well?"

"Kelson…." Dhugal swallowed. "I truly haven't heard all that much anti-Torenthi rhetoric in any of my lands since the Pax Torenthi with Liam-Lajos. I know their feelings about King Wencit and Mahael's regency were quite strong, but this is a new reign with a King who came to age under your fosterage, one known to be committed to keeping the peace between our peoples. Maybe it's not quite as bad as all that."

Kelson shook his head. "Let's hope. But I suspect there's some anti-Torenthi hostility still simmering under the surface, waiting to bubble up again, at least among the survivors of the Llengarth Plain. It's possible that the younger generation—especially the men your age and younger who were still children and never actually _saw_ what happened in that battle with Wencit—might forgive and forget more easily, but I would imagine that even those too young to have seen the horrors of that battlefield themselves lost friends and family to it. Given enough time, it's even possible that some of the older men have managed to forgive and forget, or will manage to someday. Your father has, though I'll warrant it took him quite some time. But then again, Duncan has had the benefit of living in close association with my Court in Rhemuth. He's had many more opportunities than the average Cassani to meet other Torenthi and not base his entire view about a race on the behavior of one man. Besides which, being Deryni gives him a bit more insight about the illogic of that position as well, I suspect. _You_, however, do not have the advantage of being the Duke of an entire populace of Duncan McLains." The King sighed. "I think I may have done you a grave disservice, Dhugal. I realize you weren't involved in the battle against Wencit, and that you didn't grow up among your father's people. You are perhaps the first Cassani Duke to be charged with needing to lead your people without first having had the benefit of growing up among them, for all that Transha is a small part of that larger whole." He gave Dhugal a rueful smile. "You did, after all, grow up in an Earldom that was at odds with its own Duke for most of your boyhood due to the MacArdry Tanist's death at the hands of a Cassani man, so one can hardly view Transha folk as typical liegemen of Cassan. Fractious, stubborn Bordermen, the whole lot of you! But have I kept you so often here in Rhemuth, you've failed to realize the impact a Torenthi Duchess might have on a people who suffered as much as your people of Cassan and Kierney have under a Torenthi King's invading army?"

Dhugal closed his eyes. "All right, you've made your point. What can I do to set things right?"

Kelson sighed. "Pray there's some way for you to be dispensed of your betrothal vows. If you can't...then God help you, Dhugal, because _I _won't be able to!"

#

"Is there anything that can be done?" The King looked around the Council table at his assembled clergy.

Archbishop Cardiel sighed. "Well, the bridegroom is clearly of legal age and entered into the contract willingly. What of the bride?"

Dhugal sighed. "She agreed to the betrothal. And I believe she is nineteen."

"And she had her father's or guardian's consent to the match?"

"Her father is dead, and I had Liam-Lajos's prior consent to make the offer. And—at the time, at least—it was my understanding that I had Kelson's consent as well." Dhugal glanced apologetically at his King. "Or at least, to quote him more exactly, when I asked if I could make the offer, he said he would not forbid the match if Liam-Lajos consented to it. By the time I found out he'd reconsidered, I had already entered the betrothal contract."

Cardiel steepled his fingers, looking thoughtful. "Well, that's no help, then. And I don't suppose there were any pre-existing contracts between yourself and another woman, or between the Lady Mirjana and another man, which might nullify this one?"

"Not on my part, certainly. And unless the lady entered into another arrangement during my absence from Rhemuth, I doubt she has any pre-existing betrothal as well. Unless she was under a prior contract before she was forced into a marriage with her late husband." Dhugal looked dubious. "I'm given to understand she was only fourteen when Lord Nikos married her, so I doubt it."

Kelson turned towards Bishop Arilan. "I don't suppose Sir Sextus might have chanced to approach the lady with his offer yet?"

Dhugal turned to stare at him, startled, then looked at Denis Arilan. "Sir Sextus wished to wed the Lady Mirjana?"

Arilan gave a drily amused snort. "'Wished to' might be exaggerating the case a bit, given that he's a second son with no lands of his own, and he'd hoped to marry up—_if_ he had to marry at all—to improve his fortunes. However, he was willing to accede to the King's request. But no, his business in Autun took a bit longer than expected, so he did not return to Rhemuth until two days ago. In any case, he would not have been in any position to propose a marriage to the Lady Mirjana prior to November the fifth. And even if he had, a mere proposal is not binding like a betrothal."

Cardiel nodded. "All right. Then there's the question of fidelity, though I suspect that one is academic. I don't suppose you've been unfaithful to your betrothal vows?" he asked Dhugal with a wry smile.

"No, I've been abstinent since my wife died." Dhugal rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "Please tell me you're not suggesting I go out and bed the nearest trollop just so I'll have a legal excuse to break the betrothal?"

The Archbishop shook his head. "Sweet Jesú, no, son! Besides, that would only give just cause for the Lady Mirjana to break the betrothal, not for you to. And even if she were to appeal for a dispensation on the grounds of your infidelity, I couldn't ethically grant it if your sole cause for infidelity were to dissolve the pre-existing contract." Cardiel gave a wry smile. "Think of the legal morass _that_ could cause, if unscrupulous suitors were to discover they could easily get out of wedding one woman simply by bedding another. No, the intent of _that_ particular legal grounds for dispensation is to protect someone from having to follow through with a marriage to someone who never intended to be faithful to the marriage relationship from the very outset." He sighed. "And none here have any reason to believe that the Lady Mirjana's character is…less than proper in that regard?"

Bishop Duncan shook his head. "None. From what I've seen of her, anyway, her character appears to be unassailable." A wry smile. "There may be a myriad of faults with this mismatch, but the lady herself seems to be quite suitable, for a marriage to pretty much anyone _but_ Cassan's Duke, that is."

Cardiel sighed again, going through his rapidly diminishing mental checklist of valid reasons to dissolve a betrothal contract. "Consanguinity wouldn't be an issue in this case. Nor would…well…." The Archbishop looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I would assume the lady has no physical impediment which would prevent consummation of wedding vows, given that she's been married before and has a son to show for it. But…I don't suppose _you_ might have developed an…um...impeding condition in recent months, Your Grace?" His face flamed.

Dhugal's face also reddened once he realized the implication. "Good God, no, I'm not impotent! At least, I was certainly capable as recently as June! Again, should I go out and check?"

Arilan chuckled. "Again, no. The impotence would have to be incurable, at any rate, for that to count as a true impediment. A simple one-time inability to bed some hideous slattern you've dug up at the local stews would not suffice as proof, I'm afraid, if you were wondering. Not that I think you'd try that excuse; I'm afraid that one's more Sextus's style."

Cardiel drummed his fingers on the table. "The prospective bride is Torenthi. Was she raised in the Church of Torenth, or is she a Moor? Or, perhaps, a Jewess? There are a small population of Jews in Torenth as well as here in Gwynedd, are there not?"

"There are," Duncan affirmed. "But Lady Mirjana was raised in the Church of Torenth, so she was duly baptized. The doctrinal differences between our churches aren't sufficient to require a dispensation due to disparity prior to contracting a betrothal. In fact, there are even fewer points of difference between the Churches of Gwynedd and Torenth than between the Church of Gwynedd and the first Duchess's Church of Llyr." A sudden thought occurred to Duncan. "Dhugal, did Mirjana's first husband die at your hand?"

The Duke shook his head. "No, Morgan delivered the final blow. Why?"

Cardiel shook his head. "Doesn't matter. That would be moot as well, ecclesiastically speaking, unless Dhugal had killed her husband specifically in order to wed her. Now, _that_ would be an impediment." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "And correct me if I'm wrong on this, Kelson, but the lady is in Gwynedd of her own free will now? That is to say, she's no longer a prisoner?"

"She's not a prisoner. Liam-Lajos has ceded her wardship to me while she is in Gwynedd and unwed, but she was free to return to Torenth if she did not wish to wed and remain here."

The Archbishop rubbed his chin. "Then, if the lady was fully aware of this, it's difficult to make a case for either abduction or coercion, since the betrothal was not made while she was still a prisoner of the Crown. Unless there was some form of irregularity in the wording of the vows actually exchanged between them, I'm afraid that Duke Dhugal and Lady Mirjana have entered into a perfectly valid _verba de futura_ contract of marriage." Cardiel's eyes flitted to Dhugal. "I presume, since you say you entered into a betrothal and not a _verba de praesenti_ marriage like your father's was, that you _did_ use the future tense rather than the present tense when exchanging your vows? That is to say, you said that you '_will _take Mirjana to be your lawfully wedding wife,' rather than simply 'I, Dhugal, take you, Mirjana….'?"

Dhugal nodded slowly. "I believe I did, yes. That was my intent."

Arilan snorted. "Oh, good. Then it's not hopeless, it's just _mostly_ hopeless."

Cardiel gave him a reproving look. "That's not particularly helpful, Denis."

The Bishop of Dhassa leaned back, crossing his arms before him. "Well, they could simply remain betrothed indefinitely. As long as the _verba de praesenti_ vows aren't exchanged and the relationship is never consummated, the Lady Mirjana will still have a man of Kelson's Court standing in surety for her, which I believe was one of the goals of this misalliance, and yet she'll not have the full legal rights or rank of a wife. That is to say, she won't be the Duchess of Cassan; therefore, the Duke might be able to avoid having an uprising on his hands once his people find out she's Torenthi." He looked thoughtful. "Or there's another solution. He already has an heir; he could enter into a morganatic marriage, if the Lady will agree to this. It would mean none of the heirs of her body could ever inherit any of Dhugal's lands, of course, but as long as his firstborn son survives to full adulthood and begets heirs, that won't be an issue. His people might still resent him having a Torenthi wife, but perhaps not half so much if they know she's signed away all rights for her children to inherit their Duke's lands." Arilan shrugged. "Actually, if the marriage is morganatic, Dhugal couldn't even invest her as his Duchess, but given the circumstances, perhaps that's for the best."

The Duke of Cassan glared at Arilan. "You _can't_ be serious! With either of your proposals, I'd end up having _no_ possibility of siring any other legal heirs, which was my whole _reason_ for needing to remarry. Either I'm supposed to be locked indefinitely into a relationship that's never consummated, or I'm supposed to sign away any birthright my future sons might hope to inherit from me if Duncan Michael doesn't survive me, If I'd simply wanted a woman in my bed, I'd certainly not have entered into a betrothal agreement in the first place just so I could shackle myself to…what, essentially a life-bonded concubine?" Dhugal snapped at Arilan. "That's a non-answer, and you know it! Damn it all…." He rubbed at his forehead with one hand, looking exhausted already despite the fact it was barely an hour past midday. "All right, so it seems that the betrothal is thoroughly binding. What if I marry her here and keep her in Rhemuth for the time being, until my people get used to the idea of my remarriage? Now that I can get back and forth between Rhemuth and Cassan more easily, I could go back to my lands as often as needed, even if my full entourage couldn't, and she can remain here until things die down a bit. My people surely can't remain hostile to her forever!"

Duncan sighed, looking dubious. "Maybe not, but even if they adjust to the idea after a few years, that's still a hell of a long time, son. I don't envy your Lady at all; she'll have an uphill battle trying to win the people's trust and acceptance, especially if they never see her and have a chance to get to know her for herself. Though on the other hand, I have to agree she'd probably be safer remaining here in Rhemuth at least at the beginning."

Dhugal glanced at his father warily. "Do you seriously think they'd try to harm her?"

The former Duke of Cassan shrugged. "I really couldn't say. I was only Duke of Cassan for a handful of years—much of which time was spent in Rhemuth or in Meara—and have hardly had a chance to return home in the past eight since I abdicated the title in your favor. Emotions might have calmed down quite a bit more than I've anticipated over those years. Still…." He shook his head. "The people of Cassan and Kierney have long memories, son. They're not unlike the people of Transha in that regard. When I passed the title on to you, I still heard the occasional grumble about me having sired a Transha lad, given the former feud between my father's men and old Cauley's, never mind that most of the resentment was on the MacArdrys' side. From the time Ardry MacArdry died until you became Earl of Transha, Transha paid its tribute directly to the King rather than through its rightful Duke, although my father never pressed the issue, given the circumstances, nor did I. Then again, you being of my blood, and therefore also of my father's, helped win you faster acceptance in Cassan and Kierney. The Lady Mirjana won't have that advantage." Duncan gave his son a wry smile. "You're both going to have some rocky times ahead, son, no matter what either of you do. We'll just have to ride them out and hope that, eventually at least, the disadvantages of this marriage won't end up completely overriding the advantages you'd hoped to gain from it." He glanced at Kelson.

The King nodded curtly. "If there's no hope for backing out, the only thing we can do at this point is to push forward, brace for the worst, and hope for the best."

Arilan nodded. "It might not even end up as a lifelong stalemate. Life happens—people _do_ change and emotions eventually die down. Or of course, often wives die in childbed…." The bishop, belatedly remembering how Dhugal's last Duchess had died, hastily added, "Or other perfectly natural causes, not that anyone would wish such a fate on the Lady Mirjana…."

"No one at this table at least, I hope," Dhugal said dully, burying his face in his hands. "All right, since I've got us into this mess, and there seems to be nothing left to do but forge on, there's not much point in delaying the inevitable, is there? Might as well just get the worst over with already, and hope I can eventually convince my people it's all for the best."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_ November 18, 1132_

_ Rhemuth Castle, Chapel Royal_

_"_I, Dhugal Ardry MacArdry McLain, take thee, Mirjana..." Dhugal's voice faltered as he realized belatedly that he didn't even know his bride's full name. She realized the problem at the same moment he did, apparently, for a moment later he felt her tentative mind-touch, mind-heard her mental voice supplying the necessary information. He continued, hoping his momentary pause wasn't too apparent to the small gathering of witnesses behind him, "... Nadezhda Vasilissa Furstána, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereunto I plight thee my troth." She had not supplied the "von Brustarkia" surname of her late husband, and he had no wish to add the painful reminder.

Father Nivard turned to the Torenthi widow by Dhugal's side. She glanced up at him, her clear green eyes looking uncertain for a brief moment, but then her quiet, exotically-accented voice repeated the ancient vows. "I, Mirjana Nadezhda Vasilissa Furstána, take thee, Dhugal Ardry MacArdry McLain, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to be bonny and buxom at bed and at board, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereunto I plight thee my troth."

They were the traditional vows Dhugal had heard at many other weddings in the past, but it was the first time he had taken these particular vows. His mind wandered briefly to his first wedding, the ceremony conducted according to his late wife's less formal Llyrian traditions rather than those of Gwynedd. Somehow, despite the familiarity of the words Father Nivard uttered before them now, something about today's ceremony seemed oddly alien to him. He wondered if it seemed equally strange to his bride, accustomed as she must be to Torenthi customs and a Mass conducted in Greek rather than in Latin.

The priest paused, looking at him expectantly. With a start, Dhugal wrenched his attention back to the present moment. It must be time for the exchange of rings. He handed over the small gold circlet for the priest to bless. The aquamarine cabochons set in it reflected the same pale green as his bride's eyes, one of the few parts of her face visible behind the Eastern style veils she still favored even now after living in Gwynedd these past four months.

Father Nivard finished speaking, handed Dhugal back the ring. He took his bride's hand, passing the ring briefly over the tips of thumb, index finger, and middle finger 'in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti' before sliding it onto her ring finger. It fit perfectly. Dhugal blessed the foresight that Princess Rothana had shown in requesting the loan of the ring ahead of time so that it could be properly fitted. It was the sort of detail he might easily have forgotten in the busyness of the past few days.

It was time to kneel before the altar for the nuptial blessing and the Mass.

#

The wedding had been small, given the circumstances, with very little ceremony aside from the exchange of marital vows and the Mass itself. There would be no great celebration afterwards in the Great Hall, despite the fact that the rank of the newlywed couple certainly entitled them to one. Such a public assembly would have been extremely awkward for the new bride. Mirjana, newly-wed second Duchess of Cassan, was grateful not to have to sit at the High Table under the watchful, wary eyes of the people of Rhemuth's Court who were still unsure whether to welcome her or greet her with suspicion because of who her last husband had been.

Oh, there'd been kindness enough from a few in Kelson's Court, and it had helped a great deal that the Queen and the Duchess Meraude had made a point of helping her settle into her new life here in Gwynedd, as had the Duchess Richenda once she and her family had arrived in Rhemuth from faraway Corwyn. Among the Servants of Saint Camber she had found acceptance as well. The Princess Rothana had quickly taken her under her wing, making sure that she and Mikhail had all that they might need. Their sons had quickly taken to each other, much to Mirjana's relief, and now Mikhail's understanding of the Gwyneddan tongue had become much improved with daily practice.

But still, a handful of sympathetic women was one thing; an entire assemblage of gawking strangers was quite another.

Mirjana shot a shy glance at the stranger by her side. Her new husband was listening attentively to something the King was saying, though as if he sensed her gaze fall upon him, he happened to look towards her just at that moment, catching her eye. He gave her a faint, almost self-conscious smile, courteously pushing some of the better morsels of meat on their shared trencher to her side of it before turning his attention back to Kelson again. It was their wedding feast, shared in the relative privacy of the Duchess Meraude's solar, with only a few of the groom's friends and family in attendance.

Of her own, there were none, of course. What friends she'd had in girlhood were all far away in Torenth. As for friends from her previous marriage, there were none. Nikos had not permitted her to form such bonds, and even had he permitted it, there was no one within his circle of intimates she would have wished to form such an association with.

Her gaze wandered around the room, falling to rest on a man in a purple cassock who stood next to the Duke of Corwyn. The bishop, she now knew, was her new father-in-law and cousin to the Duke he was speaking to now. His blue eyes intercepted her gaze and he gave her a polite smile before turning to look down at the small boy tugging on his hand.

Lord Duncan Michael, her new husband's heir. With his copper-bronze hair so like his father's, pulled back into its stubby Border braid, and his eyes the clear pale green of his late mother's, the child could possibly have passed for her own as well, save for a certain delicacy of feature and fairness of complexion that she suspected the boy had inherited from the former Duchess of Cassan. She had once happened upon a portrait of her new husband's first wife. The woman had been quite lovely. And it had been whispered, though not quietly enough to have prevented her from overhearing, that theirs had been a love match.

Wistfully, the new bride wondered if she might be able to please her new husband. She'd never wanted to please Nikos; it was a new experience for her, this desire to please. Or, at the very least, not be found terribly wanting.

#

Dhugal climbed into bed, taking his place under sheet and blanket beside his new bride. It was only the second time he'd seen her unveiled. He tried not to think about that first time, in her prison cell in the castle Keep, when she'd unveiled herself before the King of Gwynedd before offering herself to him in a desperate attempt to bargain for protection for her young son. That had been an awkward moment for all concerned, and certainly not one he wanted to dwell upon as he lay beside her now, awaiting Father Nivard's blessing on their marriage bed.

This was not, of course, the same bed he had once shared with Catriona, nor were they even in the same apartment. He was grateful for the mercy of Araxie's change of quarters for him, so he would not have to bring his bride to a bedchamber filled with another life's memories.

Dhugal glanced at Mirjana as the priest finished the nuptial blessing. Her fingers plucked nervously at the bedsheet covering her, although as she noticed his gaze upon her, she stilled them, summoning up a fleeting smile. The wedding guests sang them a final song of blessing and benediction, and then filed out, leaving the bridal couple to begin their new marriage and perhaps create new life as well.

The door closed. The pale green eyes, so much like Catriona's but framed in a cascade of ebony hair instead of the familiar honey-gold, gazed up at him with what seemed an odd admixture of anxiety, determination, hope and...was it fear? It was this last that shook him to the core.

_Sweet Jesú, I can't do this! What the hell was I thinking, believing I could go through with this?_

"My Lady..." Dhugal struggled to think of what to say to this woman who was watching him with the shy wariness of a deer ready to bolt back into the underbrush. "I realize we've hardly had an opportunity to get to know each other. If you would prefer to wait..."

She looked relieved for a brief moment, but then looked troubled, glancing away uncertainly for a moment to study a crack in the wall as if she expected to find an answer there. At last she turned back to him.

"It is all right, my lord. I know you wish for a son, and I am willing to... do my duty." Her voice faltered only a little at the last phrase.

It was a far cry from the eager anticipation of his first wedding night, but since she was willing, he couldn't think of any graceful way to back out of the expected consummation. He hoped he'd at least be able to please her. Surely this night couldn't be any less awkward for her than it was for him.

#

He lay beside her in silence, asleep at last. Mirjana studied him in the moonlight filtering softly through the window.

It had been awkward, this wedding night, but not the ordeal she had feared it might be. She had never known any man intimately aside from Nikos, had not dreamed that the marital chore could be accomplished without pain, so that discovery had been a most welcome surprise.

She wondered now what else about her first marriage had been less than typical. Or was it this one that was unusual? She had once, as a young girl, stumbled upon a book of love poems in her father's library that had spoken of the delights of the marriage bed, and had spent the next few weeks in starry-eyed daydreaming over what it might be like to be courted and won by a handsome young courtier and uplifted to the Gates of Paradise on wings of bliss. Or some such nonsensical imagery; she had long since forgotten most of the poetic particulars. Then Nikos had come along—had seen her, had desired, and had approached her father for her. Upon being refused, he seized the prize anyway, carrying her off to lands far from her homeland, forcing himself into her body but never into her heart. She had long since given up dreams of courtship and love, much less Gates of Paradise and wings of bliss.

But tonight...well, she couldn't exactly say she'd seen Paradise, but she was quite certain that, unlike all those other times with Nikos, she had gone nowhere approaching the Gates of Hell either. This new husband had been very gentle, very kind, as he'd ever been to her on their previous brief encounters. If his mind had seemed elsewhere, well, she supposed that was only to be expected under the circumstances, but in an odd way that had helped, for she felt less self-conscious without that steady amber gaze regarding her intently. He had remained tightly shielded, but then again, that too was a relief, for she had no more wish than he to lower her own shields and show him her own vulnerability and brokenness. _That_ was an intimacy far too frightening to contemplate.

She closed her eyes and tried to settle into sleep, but her skin still tingled with the memories of this man's caressing hands and tender kisses. That part had been pleasant. Mirjana had never experienced that before, just haste and Nikos's suffocating weight. Fortunately, she'd never had to suffer Nikos's attentions for very long at a time. A handful of minutes at the most—she'd learned to endure by lying still and forcing her mind elsewhere—and then he'd be done, rolling off her again and returning to his own bedchamber, falling asleep before she did and rattling their adjoining door with his snoring.

This man of Gwynedd seemed to take an abnormally long time by comparison, but as long as it didn't hurt, Mirjana supposed she could live with that. Might even come to find it enjoyable enough. That was a relief; it would make it so much easier for her to do her duty by him.

She hoped she could give him a son quickly. It was the least she could do, for all his kindness to her and to Mikhail.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_November 25__th__, 1132_

_ Rhemuth Castle_

Dhugal returned to his apartment after a long afternoon spent wrangling over one tedious matter after another on the King's Council. His most comfortable slippers sat beside the hearth, warming by the fire, and a fur-lined robe was draped carefully over his favorite chair, although of his new wife there was no sign.

That was a relief. It still felt odd to him to walk into these unfamiliar quarters, now shared with a stranger, and to think of it as his home. Or, at least, his home here at Court. Even harder to become accustomed to was his new wife's anxious eagerness to please him. She said very little—although her Gwyneddan was fairly fluent and her comprehension quite good, Dhugal suspected she was shy about speaking in what, for her, was a foreign language—but those disconcerting eyes kept following him around the room as he took note of the small changes she had made, the little comforts she kept offering up, as if silently begging him to accept her offerings. To accept _her_.

Not that he had much choice in _that _anymore. She was, for better or for worse, his wife now, whether he was having difficulty wrapping his mind, much less his heart, around the concept or not. And, to be fair, he had to admit she was working very hard to learn the ways of her new people. The previous evening, she had shyly appeared in the doorway of his study in a new gown, cut in the latest Rhemuth fashion, and a Gwynedd-style veil under a simple circlet. Duchess Richenda had helped her with the sewing for both, so that she could learn how to cut others from the same pattern.

Dhugal handed his cloak and coronet to his page Aidan, then wandered over to the doorway of an adjoining room. Mirjana looked up at him from her seat on a cushion on the floor of their small solar, carefully piecing together a new tunic for her Mikhail and a similar one for Duncan Michael. The boys sat nearby, entertaining themselves in setting up a battlefield with toy soldiers. Dhugal suspected that's what Mikhail was attempting to do anyway, although the lines of battle kept changing unexpectedly because Duncan Michael's wooden destrier—a gigantic beast of legend compared to the scale of the tinier warriors—occasionally wreaked havoc as Duncan Michael galloped it wildly over the assembled ranks. As the leading rank of soldiers toppled over once again, the older boy looked up at Dhugal with a long-suffering sigh, then grinned as an idea struck him. A moment later, one of Mikhail's soldiers went airborne, sailing from the toy trebuchet directly at the destrier. Duncan Michael's pudgy toddler hand paused in mid-motion as he gaped at the small warrior rebounding off his giant mount, then he giggled. Dhugal suppressed a chuckle and started to back out of the room. His wife's voice stopped him.

"My lord, are you hungry? Would you like for me to have food sent up?"

They had, over the past week, been taking most of their meals in private rather than in the Great Hall where, on the one evening they'd made an exception, they'd found themselves the focus of stares and quiet whispers. Mirjana had even attempted to cook a meal once—to his surprise, since noblewomen rarely did their own cooking, even though most were at least somewhat trained in the skill so that they could more effectively manage their kitchen staff. Catriona had enjoyed hearth cookery, so he had grown somewhat accustomed to the occasional wife-cooked meal, but Llyrian cuisine was far different from that of Torenth, and after her first attempt, Mirjana had given up. She had been unable to find some of the necessary ingredients in Rhemuth, she'd told him, and therefore the stew she'd tried to make hadn't tasted right. She'd apologized profusely, eyes downcast as if expecting a rebuke. Honestly, he'd not noticed anything amiss with the stew except that it seemed slightly bland, though that could well have just been in his own perception. His appetite seemed to be lacking of late.

"I'm not all that hungry. Have you and the lads eaten?"

She looked strangely disappointed for a brief moment, but then she ducked her head, focusing on her sewing project. "Not yet. We only returned from the gardens a short while ago." She glanced at the boys briefly, then put her sewing down, rising gracefully to walk closer to the doorway. "Your son is...quite advanced for his age," she whispered once she'd reached his side.

Dhugal glanced at Duncan Michael. "How so?" he whispered back. "Or should I ask, what has he done now?"

She watched the younger boy, just a couple of months beyond his third birthday, as he played with her son. "We walked around the fish pond today. Duncan Michael wanted me to see how the fish follow him around the edge of the pool."

The boy's father suppressed a laugh. "Yes, he's a born leader…of fish, anyway. I probably should have warned you."

Mirjana smiled, surprising him. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen from her, and it caught him off-guard, but a knock sounded on the apartment's outer door just then, interrupting the moment. Young Aidan crossed the outer chamber to answer the door. The visitor was another page—this one in Haldane livery, bearing a message.

Dhugal read the note swiftly, then bowed towards his bride. "Duty calls, I'm afraid. Go ahead and order dinner up for yourself and the lads, if you like, but I may not be back until quite late. Aidan, you needn't attend me; you're free for the rest of the evening."

The boy bowed deeply, a big grin on his face, and scampered off.

Mirjana nodded, her expression uncertain. "Should I...wait up?"

He understood the unspoken question behind her words, caught the silent anxiety in her eyes. "No, there's no need," he answered. The words sounded more curt to his own ears than he'd meant them to be, and he fought down a twinge of annoyance with himself as she visibly flinched. "I really don't know what time I'll be back," he said more gently, "so at least one of us might as well get a decent night's sleep."

It was a truthful enough answer, not that he thought his new wife was Truth-Reading him. It was, however, also an evasive one. Deep down, Dhugal was grateful for the summons. He'd not been able to bring himself to revisit his bride's bed again since their wedding night. He'd hoped she would be grateful for the reprieve, but it seemed she was as hopeful for a second son as he was.

He'd not changed his mind about wanting a spare heir. He just wished there were some easier way to get one, some way that didn't require imposing himself on the anxious young woman he'd wed in such haste, it hadn't even occurred to him to wonder until far too late how his rash decisions would affect her, would change her life just as radically as they'd changed his.

Sometime soon, he knew, he ought to make another attempt, but it was difficult for him to bring himself to the task when every sight of the lady filled him with deep regret for his own folly.

"Good night then, my lord," Mirjana said.

"My lady." Dhugal extended his hand towards his wife, lifting the hand she offered him to his lips and bestowing a light kiss over it. As he turned to go, he thought he heard her quiet sigh behind him.

#

The castle was nearly silent by the time the Duke returned to his quarters that night, with most folk already abed. Thus it was that Dhugal had no trouble hearing the quiet sound of weeping as soon as he entered his apartment.

He briefly considered ignoring it, considered moving silently past the closed door muffling the sounds of her sobs, reluctant to intrude on her private grief. But then the sounds suddenly stilled, as if she'd heard or sensed his return, so he remained in the corridor between their bedchambers, unsure of what would be the better course—to inquire if there might be something he might do for her, or to leave her alone. He had no idea which action she would prefer.

His innate sense of compassion won out. He couldn't imagine falling into an untroubled sleep with his woman sobbing in the next room, and him with no idea why. He could at least check on her, and if she preferred to be left alone, she could tell him so herself.

Dhugal rapped lightly on the door. "My lady?"

After a moment, he heard her soft footfalls approach, then the door opened. Red-rimmed eyes, their black lashes spiky with moisture, looked up at him. Mirjana attempted a welcoming smile as she tightened an oversized cloak around herself, looking more like a upset child than a grown woman. "My lord has need of me?"

He shot a quick glance towards the nursery farther down the corridor. That door was closed, and no sounds came from within, but all the same, he kept his voice low. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mirjana? I…um.…You sounded like you might be in distress, a short while earlier."

She dropped her eyes, taking a step back from the doorway to allow him entry. "Nay. That is, there's nothing you can do, but thank you for asking." Her lips trembled, and she clamped them together, fighting for control. "I never meant to disturb your slumber."

"I wasn't asleep; I'd just returned." Dhugal studied her disconsolate face, wishing he knew what to do to help his sorrowful young bride. "I imagine you're rather homesick," he guessed.

She shrugged. "Sometimes." She gave a wan smile. "I haven't really had a home for years, though; it's hard to miss what one barely remembers. It's not that." Mirjana turned to gaze out her bedchamber window at the roofs of the City, visible beyond the Castle walls. "Today was my daughter's second birthday," she whispered. "Or it might have been. I have no idea if she's even still alive."

It took a long moment for the words to make sense to Dhugal, but once comprehension sank in, it hit him with the impact of a swift kick in the gut. "You have no idea? But…How…?"

She turned to face him. "My hus—that is, Lord Nikos took her from me." She sank onto the window seat, staring at her hands. "It was my fault. I didn't want to drink the potion again, so I told him I was bearing a second son. He was away when she was born, so he didn't know until she was three months old. He came home unexpectedly while I was bathing her…." Mirjana bit her lip, trying to still the quaver in her voice. "He was very angry. He hit me, I think—I don't really remember everything about that night—and when I regained consciousness, she was gone. He told me the next morning he had sold her." The green eyes filled with tears. "I pray every night and morning that he found a childless couple who wanted a daughter, or that he lied and killed her outright. Even that would be preferable to the alternatives in the markets of Byzantyun."

Dhugal closed his eyes briefly, not wanting to think of any alternatives that would be worse than death for a three-month-old baby to endure. He found himself moving towards his grieving wife, slowly sitting down beside her. "That wasn't your fault, Mirjana. You might have deceived Nikos, but selling his own child was unconscionable. I'm sure you never foresaw that."

She shook her head. "I didn't, but I should have. I'd been married to him long enough to know that he had no pity, no mercy."

He took her hand in his, clasping it gently. "You said he made you take a potion?"

Mirjana nodded. "I caught with child twice after Mikhail was born, but both times, it was a daughter. Nikos made me drink a draught to rid me of the child so he could try for another son sooner. The first time, I didn't know what he was making me drink—just that it was bitter and that it made my stomach cramp. But then I miscarried. The second time…." She blinked away tears. "I knew what it was that time, but he forced it down me anyway. So the third time, I lied." She stifled a sob. "I _can_ have sons, though. I had Mikhail!"

"Aye." Dhugal drew his wife close, stroking her hair as she buried her face in his shoulder. "It's not your fault, lass." A sudden chill swept through him, and he straightened slightly to study her. "_That's _why, when I first offered for you, you told me you'd accept my offer if I promised not to be angry at you for any daughters we might have?"

"Yes." She gave him a wobbly smile. "You said you cherished your daughter. I…had a father like that once." She swallowed. "I knew if you were kind enough to love a girl child, you would probably be kind to my son as well, even though…he has less of a birthright than even a girl now." She bit her lip, the tears threatening to overwhelm her again.

That was definitely a topic Dhugal wished to avoid, for truly he had little comfort to offer for Mikhail's plight. He could only hope the lad would feel the calling of a true vocation in the Church when he was older; that seemed the easiest way to secure a future for him. Perhaps, if gently steered towards the Servants of Saint Camber, he might eventually discover an affinity for the religious life. That would be a more likely path to a secure future than the life of a knight errant or a man-at-arms, which were the best options that Dhugal would be able to provide for him.

"What was your daughter's name?" he prompted, steering her gently away from her other worry.

"Gia," she whispered. "Gia Anoushka Arianna Furstána." He noticed once again how she defiantly left off the "von Brustarkia" surname from her first marriage, as if not acknowledging the child's full parentage would erase all reminders of Nikos completely. Not that he could blame her for the attempt.

He nodded. There was little hope of finding any trace of the child now, at this late date, if she even still lived. But he'd ask Seisyll Arilan to look into the matter anyway, if he ever had a chance, or if he knew the right contacts to look into the matter for him. He figured that would be unlikely, with Byzantyun half a world away, but as long as they were still searching for Teymuraz, they might as well keep eyes and ears open for news of a three-month-old infant girl sold a year and nine months ago. A Deryni girl, although most people wouldn't be able to detect any difference, so Dhugal doubted that detail would be especially helpful. Arilan had a daughter of his own, though; he'd understand Dhugal's need to ask, even if the odds of finding the child were nearly hopeless.

They sat in silence together for a while in the window embrasure of the dimly lit chamber, Dhugal holding his wife close in the comforting circle of his arms, stroking her hair. There was so much he didn't know about this woman, so much sorrow she had already seen in her young life, just now reaching the end of its second decade. Again, he regretted the additional pain the rashness of his over-hasty action was bound to bring her, once the news of their marriage got back to his people, though hopefully any sorrow her marriage to him might bring her would not compare to the extreme hurts heaped upon her by her late and unlamented first husband.

"How did you end up married to Lord Nikos?" he asked quietly.

She remained silent a few moment longer, then pulled away slightly, pushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. "He and Duke Teymuraz—this was during the Regency years, so Teymuraz was still Duke of Brustarkia then—they were visiting my father's lands in Arjenol en route to visiting Duke Mahael. I had just entered my fourteenth year. Lord Nikos saw me and decided he desired me for his wife, but my father would not consent." The dark lashes fluttered downwards. "He would not give me where I had no wish to wed, and besides that, he thought me overyoung for marriage still and would not have given me yet even had I been willing." She inhaled a long, shuddering breath. "So our guests continued on their way, conducting whatever business it was that they had set forth to do, but on their return trip to Brustarkia they came back through my father's lands unexpectedly, catching him off-guard. Teymuraz put my father to the sword, and Nikos…." She pressed her fingers to her lips a long moment. "He stole me away. He told me that if I would not wed with him willingly, there were other ways to make me more willing to wed. Ways that would make me unsuitable for marriage to any other man who might offer, so I'd have to accept his suit." She shook her head. "I was young. I knew no better. But had I known what life with Nikos would be like, I'd have refused him even after…." Her voice broke. "But I was afraid. My father was dead, and with no hope for a better marriage to a decent man, how else would I survive?" She shrugged. "So I went with him. Still unwilling, but too scared to do otherwise. And within a few short weeks, I was with child, and I dared not run away after that, for Mikhail's sake."

Dhugal's eyes turned to amber ice. "Lady, had I known earlier and were it within a man's power to do so, I'd have killed Lord Nikos twice over for your sake. No woman should ever have to suffer so." He cradled her head against his shoulder. "And what of Mikhail? Did Nikos also mistreat your son?"

"Oh, no, Jesú be thanked! No, Mikhail was the light of his father's eyes." A wry smile. "That was Nikos's one redeeming grace. He could love a son, in his own crude way at least. But even so…." She looked up at him, her eyes thoughtful. "Your Duncan Michael respects you, but he is not afraid of you, I don't think. Nikos, on the other hand…. _Everyone_ feared him, especially if he was in one of his rages. Everyone except Teymuraz, at least. Even, sometimes, his own son."

Dhugal tucked the information away for future reference. He had noticed the lad watching him warily at times, as if waiting for him to explode. Now he had a better understanding of why.

Somewhere from the heart of Rhemuth, a clock tolled the hour. He gently withdrew from Mirjana, standing and lifting her hands to his lips. "It's very late, my lady. I should let you rest."

She looked up at him, a faint look of—was it disappointment?—warring briefly with acceptance in her eyes, but then she nodded. "Yes. You will need your sleep, if you will be in meetings again tomorrow. And…." She blushed, looking down at her hands still resting in his. "I think the unpropitious time of month is nearly upon me."

_The unpropitious_…? It took him a moment to realize what she meant. "Oh. Well. That's all right. All the more reason for you to rest." He fought the urge to flee, made himself meet her eyes with a smile and a gallant bow instead. "Do try to get some sleep, Mirjana."

He left, making his way down the corridor to his own chamber nearby. But for him, sleep proved to be just as elusive as his peace of mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_December 1, 1132_

_ Rhemuth Castle_

The apartment was redolent with the fragrance of citrus and spice when Dhugal entered. He took an appreciative sniff as he paused just inside the entrance to hand his damp cloak to his squire Séamidh.

Duncan Michael and Mikhail stood over a thin layer of syrup-coated orange wedges, watching the glistening coating on them dry slowly. Beside the hearth, Mirjana stirred a pot that, if Dhugal's nose was judging aright, contained small chunks of syrup-boiled ginger root being stirred into a drier mixture of sugar and spices to absorb the excess moisture from the ginger and coat it. She lifted the spoon, carefully shaking the coated pieces of ginger it held onto a waiting parchment on a tray, separating them out so that none touched before sprinkling a mixture of sugar, ground cinnamon, and other aromatic spices over the coated slices. She repeated this process several times until the parchment was covered with sugar-coated ginger and no chunks remained in the pot, then she moved the metal tray close to the fire to continue drying out the ginger.

"Can we have candied rose petals too, Mama?" Mikhail pleaded.

"Roses are not in season during Advent," Mirjana told him regretfully, "but I shall make some for you next year once they're in bloom. Candied violets too, if you'd like."

Dhugal smiled in their direction as he and Séamidh walked past the small sitting area towards his private rooms further down the corridor. He left his study door open as he settled onto a comfortable chair by his desk and straightened his legs so that his squire could help him remove the damp boots. Through the open door, he could hear the conversation continue.

"No, Duncan Michael, let the ginger dry out and cool first, then you may try some. Mikhail, leave the oranges alone; I'm saving them for tonight. You and Duncan Michael may share one, but leave the rest be."

Dhugal turned his attention back to his squire, only half-listening to the voices coming from the front room as he handed Séamidh the boots to take care of, then settled back to peruse some correspondence. One of the boys had evidently been caught poking a finger into an orange wedge and then licking it to taste the cooling syrup. The sounds of maternal disapproval drifted down the corridor, followed by the clamor of disappointed voices as the source of temptation was moved out of their reach. Dhugal suppressed a smile as he continued to read.

"All right, boys; the candied ginger is cool enough to touch now. You may each try one piece, but we need to save the rest for later."

Dhugal stood to peek around the door, curious to see his son's reaction to the new confection. As he expected, the toddler started chewing the treat with great enthusiasm, only to grimace and spit it back out a few moments later. Fortunately the discarded wad of chewed ginger was clutched in his hand and not making the floor sticky.

"Ah, is it too spicy?" Mirjana asked, swiftly divesting her husband's child of his half-chewed treat and tossing it into the fire, then wiping his hand clean. "I'm sorry, sweeting. Perhaps in a few more years you'll learn to like it. Mikhail didn't learn to like candied ginger until he was a little older."

"I like it now, though, Mama," Mikhail said, giving his stepbrother a superior look. "I'm not a _baby_ any more!"

Duncan Michael, his feelings hurt, started to pout. Mirjana hastily intervened, wrapping the younger boy in a quick hug. "Oh, but Duncan Michael isn't a baby either! He just isn't accustomed to spicy foods yet. It's a learned taste, Mika; surely you remember?"

Mikhail scowled, fisting his hands on his hips as he stared at his mother, jealousy marring his normally content features. "Well, you're just a woman; what do _you_ know?"

Dhugal waited for Mirjana's swift correction of her son's impertinence, but instead was surprised to see her eyes drop, her expression filling with pain, as she turned away to put up the tray of candied ginger in silence. He raised an eyebrow, stepping out into the corridor and walking swiftly towards the boys, placing a hand on Mikhail's shoulder to ensure he had the lad's attention. "You will apologize to your mother immediately."

Mikhail's startled brown eyes shot upwards to meet Dhugal's frowning gaze. "My lord?" he asked, startled. Mirjana also turned, looking equally taken aback.

"You will treat your mother with honor and respect at all times, even if you happen to disagree with her."

"But..." The boy looked confused now. "She's a _woman_!"

It was clear to Dhugal that as much as Mikhail might have feared his father, he had still looked up to him and had absorbed some attitudes that would need to be unlearned. "Yes, she certainly is. She is the woman who risked her own life to give life to you, and for that you owe her great honor." He crouched down to look the young boy fully in the face. "Your mother loves you very much, and shows her care for you in countless ways. When you treat her like her feelings don't matter to you, you hurt her. And as her husband—not to mention as a man—I am responsible for protecting her. A woman is made to be cared for by her menfolk, not to be mistreated by them. Do you understand?"

"I—" Mikhail looked up at his mother uncertainly. "But... _Papa_ said..." He bit his lip.

Mirjana gave Dhugal a grateful look, then took her son's hand. "I know, your father believed otherwise. But son..." She searched for a way to explain why Nikos's treatment of her had been wrong without saying anything that would make Mikhail feel like she was insulting his hero. He was so young yet, too young to understand how evil his sire had truly been, much less to be able to accept that harsh truth yet. "You know, my darling, everyone in the world makes mistakes at times," she finally said. "Even, sometimes, your Papa." She glanced at Dhugal again, hoping he would forgive the gross understatement. To her relief, he made no comment, allowing the boy to absorb what she'd just said.

At last Mikhail, looking anxious, asked, "_Did_ I hurt you, Mama?"

"You hurt my feelings, yes. But I forgive you."

Mikhail glanced at Dhugal, then down at his shoes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I...suppose you might know _some_ things."

It was not a model apology, perhaps, but it was a start, and judging from the radiant expression on his wife's face and the sudden welling of tears in her eyes, it was far more than she was accustomed to receiving. Dhugal decided to let the attempt pass this time. He straightened, crossing over to the mantel to sample a piece of the controversial candy.

"It's just a little spicy, if you're not used to it..." Mirjana began apologetically.

"I know; I love candied ginger." He smiled. "Thank you for making it." He popped the morsel into his mouth, savoring the taste, then gallantly bowed over his wife's hand, making her smile and blush self-consciously.

Mikhail watched him, taking silent note of the exchange. Dhugal smiled down at him and Duncan Michael, who now looked composed again, the earlier insult to his pride forgotten. "Did you lads remember to say thank you for the sugared oranges?"

"Thank you," they both said dutifully, Duncan Michael's voice sounding a bit more enthusiastic, while Mikhail's sounded more thoughtful.

"All right, then. I suppose it's back to work for me." Dhugal met Mirjana's eyes. "If you have need of me, don't hesitate to let me know. I'll leave the door open."

#

_December 5, 1132_

_ Rhemuth Castle_

Dhugal looked around at the utter bedlam that was the MacArdry apartment. Ailidh sat in a corner of the solar, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around her as she nursed his daughter Trina, although occasionally when the din grew too loud she would issue a stern reprimand and the noise level would subside. At this particular moment, three young boys—Ciaran, Mikhail, and Duncan Michael—were engaged in a rousing game of Bells and Pillows on one side of the room, while on the other side little Aine Rose sat rocking baby Jarrett's cradle and singing him a Border lullaby in a voice that was more enthusiastic than tuneful.

"You know,_ a chara_," the MacArdry teased his retainer's wife, "when God said to be fruitful and multiply and to fill the entire world, I'm fairly certain He didn't mean for Ailidh nicArdry to do the job all on her own."

She snorted. "Oh, hardly on my own, as you well know! Don't forget, three of these little fallen angels belong to you, and as for my three, I certainly had Jass's help with getting_ those_!"

He grinned in wordless acknowledgment of her point, his eyes traveling around the room. "Where is Mirjana?" he finally asked, surprised by her absence. She rarely left the security of either their own apartment or Ailidh's unless it was to visit the Servants of Saint Camber, but on those visits she normally brought Mikhail so he could play with Rothana's son Albin.

Ailidh shrugged. "Gone to rest, I suppose. She was telling a story to Aine Rose a little while ago, but she seemed a little distracted. I think she had a headache. I told her I'd watch your boys for a while if she wanted some time to herself, and she left shortly thereafter."

"I'd better go check on her, then." He bent to kiss Ailidh's cheek, then peered down at his daughter, now done with her meal and hoisted up onto a blanket-covered shoulder for burping. "Trina's filling out," he commented.

"That she is. Jass says at this rate, she'll be nearly as round as she is tall come next Saint Nicholas's Day."

Dhugal laughed. "Well, I trust she'll be weaned by then, not to mention running around chasing the bigger children, so that should trim her back down again."

He left, going a short way down the corridor until he reached his own apartment. A quick search within revealed that Mirjana was not at home, although a chambermaid mentioned that she had stopped by briefly not an hour past before leaving again, saying something about visiting the Queen's Tower.

Dhugal thanked her for the information and headed for the Queen's solar, where he found Queen Araxie and Duchess Meraude as well as several ladies-in-waiting, but his wife was not among them.

"I'm glad you stopped by, Dhugal," Araxie told him in a low voice, taking him slightly aside out of earshot of the other ladies. "Duke Matyas stopped by earlier in the week to bring some correspondence to Kelson, and he also dropped off a box meant for your lady wife. I meant to give it to Mirjana the next time she came by, but I've not seen her since it arrived, nor have you been in the Great Hall often of late..." Her gray eyes looked concerned. "I hope she's been well?"

Dhugal wasn't certain how to answer. "She's in good health," he finally said, "although she has some days of despondency. I think she's just more comfortable out of the public eye. The last time we dined in the Great Hall was...a bit awkward for us both."

Araxie sighed. "I was afraid of that. Meraude and I have tried to ensure that she feels welcome, but not all of the ladies are of like mind. Well, if she's not comfortable with visiting us, I'll try to pay her a private call a bit later. She might also just be the sort of person who is more comfortable in the company of just one or two ladies than around a larger group." She smiled wryly. "It took me a little while to adjust to having less privacy that I used to be accustomed to, when I moved here to Rhemuth."

Dhugal looked surprised. "I didn't realize you had any trouble learning to fit in here. You seemed to take to Court life naturally."

The Queen laughed. "I went from being a prince's daughter to becoming a King's Consort. Yes, there were growing pains of a sort." She sobered, laying a hand on Dhugal's arm. "You realize for Mirjana, the adjustment is going to be quite a bit more difficult?"

He nodded. "I'm beginning to realize that more and more, yes."

"Well, at least while you're here in Rhemuth, I'll try to ease that as much as I'm able. Shall I have a squire bring her present to you later tonight? It's not a large box—Matyas had to bring it through the Transfer Portal along with Kelson's correspondence—but he said it contained a few items from Liam-Lajos that he hoped might make her feel a little less homesick."

"Yes, I'm sure she'd appreciate that. Thank you."

He took his leave, starting to head back to his quarters, but a sudden disquieting thought occurred to him, and he turned back, taking the stairs up to the top of the Queen's Tower until he reached the door at the top of the castle wall.

He saw her then, standing with her back to him a short distance away, the brisk December breeze whipping at her cloak as she stood looking off into the distance beyond the walls of Rhemuth. His heart assumed its normal pace again as he realized that whatever she had come there for, she was obviously safe. He had, for a few alarmed moments, wondered if her visit to the top of the Queen's Tower might have been made for the purpose of jumping off. Not that he thought she'd reached quite _that_ level of despondency—indeed, in the past few days she seemed to be doing somewhat better than she had been on that dark night when she'd shared a little of the burden of her past pain with him—but it was reassuring to know for certain that hadn't been her intent.

He walked towards her slowly, though not overly quietly, hoping not to startle her by coming upon her unaware, for even though the outer edge of the wall was high enough to prevent anyone from an accidental fall through the crenelations, the same wasn't true of the inner retaining edge of the wall.

She turned as she heard his approach, and as she did, Dhugal saw her clutch a flat board protectively to her chest.

He reached out his hand to her, palm raised, and she lay her own hand upon it. Bowing slightly and raising it to his lips for a kiss, he told her, "I hoped I'd find you here. I checked the Queen's Solar first, and Araxie said she'd not seen you, but she has a present for you from King Liam-Lajos which she'll have sent up later this evening."

Mirjana's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Laji sent me a present?" She relaxed enough to give him a slight smile.

Dhugal glanced at the board she was holding. "If I may ask, what brings you up here on such a chilly day?"

She blushed, looking down uneasily, but after a moment she lowered the board enough to show him the paper affixed to one side, a sketch of the view beyond captured on its surface in thin lines of charcoal. Despite the roughness of the sketch, it showed considerable talent.

"Your Rhemuth is very different from the cities in Arjenol, or even from Torenthály, but it is very beautiful in its own way," she said, looking nervous. "I hope you don't mind if I try to draw a picture of it?"

Dhugal was puzzled. "I don't mind; you certainly seem to have a talent for it. Did you think I'd object?"

She bit her lip. "In my father's house, my artistic endeavors were encouraged. I had a tutor who taught me how to sketch and paint. But after I married, Nikos said it was a frivolous waste of time and wouldn't allow me to buy materials anymore, so I stopped." She shrugged.

"I am not Nikos," her new husband said gently. "I've established that fairly well by now, I hope?"

"Oh, yes!" Mirjana said, beginning to look alarmed. "I meant no insult..."

Dhugal sighed. "I know you didn't. I simply meant you needn't fear I'm going to be unreasonable about you pursuing interests you enjoy." His lips quirked. "Unless you mean to paint Rhemuth Castle pink or anything extreme like that..."

She burst into laughter at the unexpected jest, losing her anxious expression. "Your King isn't fond of pink?"

"Not overly so," Dhugal said, grinning openly now. "At least I don't recall ever seeing him wear the color, so I doubt he'd appreciate having his entire royal residence turned into a pink palace."

#

Mirjana sat in her bedchamber late that evening, musing over the changes in her life since coming to Rhemuth.

In just under half a year, she had been widowed, taken prisoner, had feared for her life and that of her son, had been pardoned, had seen her late husband's accomplices executed, sought solace among the Servants of Saint Camber, been offered sanctuary in the Court of Rhemuth, and remarried a man who was nothing like her first husband. Her life had changed with dizzying speed, and she still felt awkward and out of place in this foreign culture, among strangers. Still, for the first time in five years she felt some moments of contentment, if not yet outright happiness.

It felt...odd, not to fear a husband. To actually find herself liking him, wishing she knew more about how to be a proper wife so she could please him. Hoping that maybe he liked her just a little bit, even if...

Even If he didn't seem to find her desirable. That baffled her. Oh, not that a man might not find her attractive—she knew that one man's idea of attractive was another man's idea of plain, and perhaps this man simply preferred a different sort of woman. But it baffled her because he had been the one to offer for her, the one to seek out a betrothal as soon as he believed himself fully free to remarry, because he hoped for another chance for sons. Or so he had said, anyway. Yet he had not come to her again since their wedding night, and while she had to admit that had been a bit of a relief in the earliest days of their marriage, over two weeks had passed now and he'd shown no signs of interest in trying again. Had the people of Gwynedd not yet discovered what caused babies? Surely they couldn't be so far behind the people of Torenth as _that_! No, he must have gotten the idea somehow that he was doing her a kindness. Yes, that had to be it.

She picked up the smaller of two boxes beside her bed, tears pricking her eyes as she lifted the lid. It contained vials of pigment, ready to be mixed with oil or glair, and a small selection of brushes. She hadn't asked for the paint box, but he had managed to find one for her nonetheless. She closed the lid again, one finger stroking its smooth surface thoughtfully.

The other box was also unexpected. It had contained a short letter from the King of Torenth, as well as a small assortment of spices, fragrances, a pair of ornamental hair combs and some other Torenthi items he had said he hoped would help to ease any homesickness she might be feeling. It was a most thoughtful present, especially given that she had not seen her distant cousin since they had both been young children, before the death of his father and his subsequent fosterage in the King of Gwynedd's Court, and they had not even been all that close, for her father had not been very partial to either Lionel or Morag and had kept obligatory visits to that branch of the family to a minimum. Liam-Lajos was only a year younger, but even as a small boy he had mainly played with the other boys, and had only played with Mirjana if she were the only playmate near their age available. She was vaguely surprised he even remembered her anymore.

She returned her attention to the first box, the gift from her new husband. Even if he didn't desire her, he seemed to value her at least somewhat. His words to her son had shown that. He cared, at least a little, about her feelings.

It was a start. Now she must figure out how to build on that beginning, how to turn his attention to her so that maybe he would realize she was ready to become a proper wife to him, if only he would show her how to be one. If only she could interest him enough to want to show her how. How else, after all, could he get the sons he needed? How else might she get the daughter she longed for, one which could never replace her little Gia or her daughters never born, but which might, perhaps, help ease the pain of losing them just a bit? How could she persuade him that he need not avoid her anymore, if in fact he was doing so out of a desire to be kind?

As she stood looking at both presents, a plan began to form.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_December 7, 1132_

_ Rhemuth Castle_

Mirjana was alone. The boys were fast asleep, having tired themselves out playing with Ciaran MacArdry earlier in the day, then returned to Mirjana for a quiet supper, baths, and a quick story at bedtime. Now they slept, safely in the charge of Lady Mhairi, who was savoring the opportunity to finish a bit of light reading before her own bedtime.

She risked a quick peek into Dhugal's study and their shared living quarters, but he had apparently not returned yet from visiting his father. It was just as well. She had plans of her own, plans she hoped he would find pleasing, once he discovered them.

Entering her bedchamber, she withdrew the box from Torenth from underneath the bed. A soft silken garment lay on top, a simple but elegant house robe redolent with the aromas of some of the other contents in the box. She considered it briefly, but then laid it aside, along with the hair combs, a lovely veil, and some spangled slippers. No, what she sought lay deeper within, in the confines of an even smaller box. This, she lifted out, opening its lid to pull out a tiny brass brazier with a perforated lid and a small drawstring pouch filled with an aromatic powder. She sniffed it briefly to ensure it was what she thought. Yes, that would serve. Another rummage through the larger box brought forth another present she could also use, contained in a stoppered vial.

Undressing, she surveyed herself in the disk of polished brass that served her as a mirror. Her hair would take hours to dry if washed again, but she had washed it in the early afternoon of the previous day and now highlights gleamed in the candlelight as she unbraided it and combed a few tangles out of her ebony satin tresses before rebraiding it to pile high atop her head, tying a cloth over it once she was done to ensure the heavy mass of braid wouldn't come tumbling down into her bathwater, undoing her careful efforts. That done, she dipped her hand into the bathwater prepared for her earlier while she was putting the boys to bed, and just before she had dismissed the chambermaid for the night. It was a bit cooler than she preferred in winter, merely lukewarm now, but that would encourage her not to linger overlong.

She opened the small vial, sniffing the contents within to determine its potency, then poured a tiny amount into her bathwater—no more than a few drops—and swirled her hand around to mix the fragrance into the water. It was attar of roses, its scent quite light due to the heavy dilution in the bathwater, but enough would linger to perfume her skin, and the oils would help to keep it soft and moist.

She stepped into the tub, lowering herself into the fragrant waters, and inhaled deeply, enjoying the caress of the rose-scented tepid water on her skin for a few moments before reaching for a container of soft soap on the nearby table, slathering the almond-rich concoction all over to wash away the day's sweat and dirt.. Once this had been rinsed away, she opened the jar next to the soap container, scooping out the contents she had prepared earlier that morning as the boys broke their nighttime fast. It was a paste made from ground almonds mixed with rosewater, milk, and honey. This, she used to scrub at her skin until it glowed with vitality, then she rinsed off the excess carefully, making sure no trace of almond grit remained.

Her ablutions done, she stepped out of the bath, patting herself dry before dabbing her skin with almond milk to retain its moisture, for the winter weather could prove drying to bathed skin. She stood before the fireplace for a few moments, savoring its warmth, then used the fireplace tongs to pick up a coal from the hearth, transporting it to the tiny brass brazier she had found among her presents. Over the coal, she sprinkled a pinch of the aromatic powder, placing the perforated lid over the burning incense. The room began to fill with the mingled essences of damask rose, sandalwood, and amber. Mirjana stood over the rising smoke, loosening her towel to use it as a sort of curtain around her, both to shield herself from drafts and to ensure the perfumed smoke was contained so it would rise directly upwards to scent her still moist skin.

In the outer apartment, she thought she heard a door open and close. She held her breath, waiting to hear if footsteps might approach her chamber, but they did not.

Now was the time to unbind and unbraid hair, letting it fall around her face like an obsidian curtain, running a fine comb through its length once more just to ensure that it was still tangle free, still silky smooth to the touch. To do so, she had to set the towel aside, but that was fine; now the perfumed smoke rose upwards to infuse her hair with its warm fragrance.

At last, the powder was spent. Mirjana used a cloth to open the brazier's lid, using the tongs to return the nearly cooled coal to the hearth, then setting the brazier aside to cool. She glanced at the silk robe on the bed, but the blanket underneath it caught her eye. She stroked it with her fingertips, a speculative smile playing on her lips, then plucked up her courage to continue with the next stage of her plan.

#

Dhugal sat in his study, taking a quick look over a letter from Lord Deveril in Cassan before heading to bed. A soft knock on the study door interrupted him.

"Enter," he said. At this time of night, it could only be Mirjana, though she rarely interrupted his work once the boys were abed. He hoped nothing was amiss.

The door opened. To his utter astonishment, his wife stepped into the room, hair unbound, dusky roses of color in her cheeks, clad in nothing more than a loose blanket as far as he was able to tell.

The fur-lined blanket fell to the floor at her feet.

If Dhugal had wondered why Nikos had felt a desire so intense for this woman, he had felt it necessary to kill in order to gain her, the thought now fled from his mind. There may well have been more beautiful women in the Eleven Kingdoms. Somewhere. At the moment, his mind was having trouble thinking of any names. Hell, at the moment his mind couldn't even remember his _own_ name!

"Did you wish to try again for a son tonight, my lord?" Shy crystal green eyes, completely at odds with the rest of the bold specimen of womanhood before him, peeked timidly at him from beneath long black lashes.

"I think...maybe..." Dhugal longed for a glass of chilled wine to moisten his suddenly dry mouth, or perhaps some ale, or Jesú, even a bucket of water poured over his head! It dawned on him, after a few stunned moments, that he was actually married to this woman now. Even his father, in his more official capacity, couldn't chide him for a lack of self-control. He nodded. "Yes, I...believe I could manage that."

#

They had ended up in his chamber, although later Dhugal couldn't quite remember how they had gotten there.

He lay in the darkness, listening to Mirjana's quiet breathing, almost kitten-like in its softness as she lay sleeping beside him. He felt a surge of unexpected tenderness towards her as he watched her sleep, wondering what had brought on her sudden urge to seduce him. Her plan had worked quite thoroughly, of course; he was hardly made of stone, as much as part of him might have argued otherwise earlier in the evening, but _why_ had she done so?

He'd been quite neglectful of his bride, he realized. He hadn't meant to be, exactly; he'd simply needed more time to adjust to the idea of being married again, and he'd just assumed she would need more time as well. Especially given how she had been treated in her first marriage.

Now it was clear that he needed to be a more dutiful husband towards her, though if this night's surprise were anything to go by, some of that duty would be far from onerous. There were other, far less pleasant responsibilities that he had towards her, though, and one which his conversation with his father earlier in the evening had reminded him of, which he could not continue to put off indefinitely.

He had no idea how he was going to broach the topic, how he'd gently bring up the subject of his own people to her, and the probable lack of welcome she would receive from them once they returned to Cassan. The high likelihood that she would actually be safer remaining in Rhemuth, at least for the time being, even though he would have to return to his lands shortly after Twelfth Night Court. She had, of course, already noticed several furtive glances and heard bits of whispered gossip about her here and there since coming to Rhemuth, both before her marriage to him and in the days after, but she had attributed those stares and whispers to her former marriage to Lord Nikos, and for the most part she had been correct in her assumption that this was why some people distrusted her. But in Cassan, the feelings against her would likely be even more hostile, and even more personal, though for entirely different reasons. Lord Deveril's letter, the one which had arrived earlier in the day, had done little to reassure him that the case might be otherwise.

He dreaded the task of telling her. Not simply because the telling would be unpleasant but also because he had just dimly started to realize that the odd look he occasionally caught in her eyes as she watched him was something akin to hero worship, and he was reluctant to shatter that regard, misplaced though it was. He found it flattering, touching even. But he could hardly keep silent simply to preserve her admiration; that would be selfish of him. And the self-centeredness of his grief had already caused enough pain for too many people, and would continue to do so in the months—possibly even years—to come. He hardly wanted to add to that injury by maintaining his silence just because that would be the easier course for the short term.

No, she must be told. Even if it meant risking her shy admiration turning first into shock, then contempt and disdain towards him for having married her, placing her in such a difficult situation, when he should have known better than to even offer for her. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. Despite his earlier misgivings, the second thoughts he'd begun to have immediately after securing the betrothal with her, and the dread with which he'd entered their marriage, he had actually started to grow a bit fond of the lady.

He thought back to his ardent reaction to her earlier that evening, and her shy yet eager response, flushing slightly in the darkness at the memory. All right, perhaps more than a bit fond. There was definitely a shared attraction, he had to admit, and at least the potential for deeper feelings to grow between them. That first tentative mind-link they'd shared tonight had shown him that much. He wasn't certain now if he was glad he'd formed that link with her or not, although as rapport went, it hadn't run all that deep, mainly focusing on the physical aspects on their shared pleasure rather than on forging more intimate emotional bonds or allowing a level of mental rapport that neither was quite ready for yet. All the same, it would make the news he had to share with her all that much harder for him to tell her.

He rolled slightly to one side, studying Mirjana's features in the pale light streaming in through the nearby window. A faint shadow of a smile still lurked in the corners of her kiss-swollen lips. He drew her close, rearranging the blanket over her with a suppressed sigh before brushing a final light kiss across her slumbering cheek and settling back onto his pillow, allowing sleep to finally overtake him.

#

_ December 8, 1132_

_ Rhemuth Castle_

Mirjana woke up just before dawn, sheltered in the circle of her sleeping husband's arm. She stiffened momentarily, then remembered she was married to the Cassani Duke now, not Lord Nikos.

She turned over, burying her warm cheeks in her new husband's bare chest. She had not meant to fall asleep in his bed, but she was grateful he hadn't turned her away, waking her to send her back to her own bedchamber, for she liked this feeling of waking up to find him holding her even in his sleep. It made her feel loved. She knew it was just an illusion, of course, but at least for a few blissful moments she could pretend her childhood dreams were coming true. After all, the poet hadn't lied about the Gates of Paradise, even if it _had_ taken her so long to find her wings of bliss and fly there. So why should he have lied about the possibility of love finding her someday?

For now, she would settle for merely being desired. Eventually, maybe, he might even come to care for her. She hoped so.

She breathed in his scent, letting her eyes drift shut, savoring the silence before the start of a new day. Once the sun rose, there would be the wary eyes and guarded whispers to face once more, she knew. But for this moment, in the arms of this man who had offered her his surety and his protection, she felt completely safe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_December 8, 1132_

_ Rhemuth Castle_

Dhugal stared unseeingly out the window as he outlined the difficulties of their position to his young bride. Once he'd finished, he turned slightly to glance back at her. She sat quietly considering what he had just told her, her face nearly expressionless, eyes downcast. At last she turned her clear green eyes up at him.

"But...I am only distantly related to the late King Wencit! I barely even remember him anymore." She looked back down at her hands, looking slightly dazed. "I remember hearing about the battle, of course, and his loss at Llyndruth Meadows. But I was only eight years old when Wencit died! I never knew anything about...about what happened to your people in that war, not until years later. And what little I heard then was mere rumor, and not the sort one repeats in front of young children." She shrugged helplessly. "There are so many things that are said that no reasonable person could believe. Is it true that King Kelson killed Wencit by means of treachery? Having met him now, I can hardly believe so, yet that is what was said afterwards. Is it true he held a young child hostage in order to make one of Wencit's generals turn against the rest? It hardly seems credible, yet there are those who say they saw the boy after he was rescued, and how he clung to his father in fear. It was said after that the boy's own mother tried to kill him to prevent his rescue. Again, I cannot imagine your Kelson allowing such a thing, now that I have met him, yet there were many survivors of Llyndruth Meadows who swear it is the truth. There were also stories about one of Kelson's own Earls being so outraged by the injustices of his own kingdom against our Deryni people that he turned to join Wencit's side, and that his anger against Kelson was so great that when Wencit asked how he might bring the people of Gwynedd to justice, he suggested...certain penalties far harsher than are common in Torenth, executions of a sort normally reserved for the most heinous of criminals, carried out with such relish that even Wencit was surprised by their brutality." She bit her lip, drawing back from the rising fire in her husband's eyes. "I do not mean to anger you, my lord, but these are the things that were said afterwards, and also in later years they said that your King had our young King Alroy murdered, and that Liam-Lajos and his mother were taken as hostage afterwards, that they would likely never return alive to Torenth, or if they did, Liam would come back so changed he would no longer be Torenthi, and that Torenth would forever be a vassal state of Gwynedd until a King strong enough to overthrow it could rise up again." She shook her head. "I know now that Duke Mahael killed Alroy, not your Kelson, and your King returned our Liam-Lajos to us safe and whole, restoring his full rights as sovereign to him at his majority. But wars breed rumors, my lord, and I was not even _there_ at Llyndruth Meadows! I was just a girl, not knowing what to believe." Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "And now I am to be blamed for the excesses of a war I am only barely old enough to remember, for actions I never committed, simply because I am a Torenthi? And my son—my baby who was not even _born_ in Wencit's lifetime—he is to be considered equally guilty against any crimes a former King might have committed against the people of your Ducal lands, simply because he is a boy of Torenthi parentage and bears the Furstán name? He is but four years old; does any man _truly_ believe he would be capable of war crimes? Where is the justice of that, my lord?"

Dhugal sighed. "There is none. There is about as much justice in it as there is truth in all those rumors you grew up hearing about my King and my people of Gwynedd, although some of those were at least based on seeds of partial truths, however wildly distorted. I simply explain how things are, and what we can expect from the people of Cassan and Kierney once it becomes commonly known that I bring home a Torenthi bride." He sighed. "_If_ I bring you home, that is. You have the option of remaining in Rhemuth. In fact, that's likely the safest course for you and Mikhail at present."

Mirjana considered the option for a long moment, then closed her eyes briefly, letting out a heavy sigh. "But my place is by your side, my lord, not hiding away because I am afraid of our own people. How can they ever get to know me, to know the truth about me, if I am to be kept stored away like some shameful secret you must forever hide? I did not ask to be the Duchess of Cassan, my lord, but I was offered for in marriage by Cassan's Duke, and so I must learn to be a proper Duchess and not a craven." She lifted her chin to look him in the eye. "I am Furstána. We do not shrink from our duty, come what may." She studied him for a long moment. "Why did you pick _me_ to marry, of all the women you might have chosen? Surely you must have seen the difficulties and known I would be a poor choice for you?" Mirjana smiled sadly. "And I know better than to think you saw me and fell instantly in love. Why did you choose the one woman in all Gwynedd who could bring such disaster upon you?"

"I..." Dhugal stared at his new wife's face, a dawning realization growing within him. He turned pale. "Oh, God, that _can't_ be it."

She tilted her head, puzzled. "What can't be, my lord?"

He fumbled for a chair, sitting heavily. "You have her eyes," he told her, his voice hollow with grief. "You were in need, and you looked at me with those eyes, and... Sweet Jesú, I've been such a fool! Such a fool, for all these months..." He closed his eyes tightly, reopened them a moment afterwards, their bronze lashes damp. "I am so very sorry, Mirjana. Sorrier than I can ever express for dragging you and your son into all of this." He looked down at his boot tops. "It was...grief, I suppose. Grief and stubborn pride. And...the Cassani are my people now, yes, but I was ever first and foremost a Transha man. More so than I ever realized, I suppose. I never knew how much so until now."

His bride studied him for a long while, attempting to decipher his train of thought, so puzzling to her without the foundations of prior knowledge to rebuild it upon. At last she ventured, "Your first wife had green eyes?" She thought back on what she had heard about the late Duchess, thought also of how very young their infant daughter was even now, that tiny babe who had been cut from her dead mother's womb, and how much younger still she would have been on that first fateful day when the Duke her father had come to Mirjana in Rhemuth's Keep to offer for her hand. Jesú, if the gossip about his first marriage was even half true, he must have still been half-crazed with grief when he made that offer!

He nodded numbly. "Like green ice. Like Duncan Michael's."

She absorbed this revelation quietly, then reached across to take one of his hands in hers. "And how is it that you are more a man of this Transha than of your own people? Were you fostered there?"

The question shook Dhugal out of his first shock and plunged him into another, but after a brief moment of considering it, he realized how very little she truly knew about him or his earlier years. "No. It's...complicated, my heritage. It would be far easier for me to just show you, if you'll allow."

"Of course, my lord. I am your wife, after all, and I must know these things." Her lips turned faintly upwards at the corners in a wry smile.

"Aye, that you are." He returned the look, squeezing her hand lightly, opening the link between them. He shared memories of childhood in Transha, then at King Brion's Court, returning home to Transha only after the death of the heir he had believed to be his brother, and the growing illness of the man he had known as his father. Memories of his discovery, after that man's death, that the old MacArdry chief had been a grandfather instead, his mother's sire, and that his true father still lived, was both a priest and yet—due to the winds of war and ill fortune—now also the Duke of Cassan. Learning of his birthright not as a child growing into it, but as an adult thrust into it of a sudden, during a time of upheaval in Gwynedd. Learning to take on new responsibilities after the Mearan War—different ones from those he had been born to. Learning them quite well in many ways, yet in other ways not well enough, for despite the years he'd had to acclimate to his new duties since peace returned to Gwynedd, far too few of them had been spent in his new lands, among his new people. And even when he walked among them, he was not fully _of_ them yet, for though Cassani blood flowed through his veins, he was born a Transha lad, and still thought more like a man of Transha than of Cassan.

"I imagine in some small way, it would be like being Liam-Lajos newly returned to Torenth and now having to rule there, I think, but with even less of an advantage than Laji had," Mirjana mused. "That is, as things might be if Laji had been born in exile here in Gwynedd, and suddenly found himself King of the people of his own blood, knowing he must rule but still learning the heartbeat of his own land. Even a wise man would make some missteps in such a situation, even under the best of circumstances, not knowing the political terrain as one born into it. And you did not offer for me under the best of circumstances, did you, my lord?" She sighed. "I do not envy you this task of learning how to be Cassani even as you learn how to lead them, my husband. Though now that we are wed, I cannot help but think this must now be my task as well. At the least, I must learn how to understand our people too, if I am ever to become a help to you and not a hindrance."

Dhugal's amber gaze met Mirjana's. "Can you forgive me for this predicament I've placed us both in, my lady?"

"I shall have to, shan't I? If you are to be the father of my future sons and daughters, we shall both have to learn how to live with one another, and I'd rather be a friend to my husband than an enemy." Her face grew shadowed. "I've known what it is to live with an enemy. And no matter what mistakes you have made, you are a good man, Dhugal of Transha, Kierney and Cassan. It is not as if you wed me because you wished to hurt me, as did Nikos." She smiled faintly. "Nor, I think, because you were so despondent, you had a death wish and chose a novel way to provoke your own people into killing you. Though I must give you points for creativity, were that the case. Even a Furstán would not plot a suicide attempt so convoluted."

He gave a reluctant laugh. "No, I'm afraid I'm not quite that creative. To my very great shame, I didn't even consider the possibility that my own people might not accept you until Kelson brought the matter up."

"And he allowed the marriage anyway?"

"We were already betrothed before he brought up the difficulties."

She frowned, considering the implications. "You married me against his will, then."

He reluctantly nodded. "He had come to tell me not to wed you, that he had other plans that would satisfy your need for security, but I had already betrothed myself to you several days earlier."

"So he allowed our marriage, but only because he had no choice." Mirjana bit her lip. "Does the entire Court know? Is that why they stare and whisper when they see us?"

Dhugal shook his head. "Maybe a few, but as for most here in Rhemuth, I think that's more due to Lord Nikos's actions this past summer."

"Ah. Then just the reasons I'd originally feared for their suspicion and spite. 'She was an assassin's wife. He is newly widowed. They married too soon.'" Mirjana sighed. "Suddenly those seem like such petty reasons to worry about the stares and whispers of others, now that I have so many new reasons to be stared at!" She gave a rueful laugh. "I think maybe I shall have to learn how to navigate the perilous waters of Rhemuth's Great Hall and Court ladies' solars after all, my lord; they shall doubtless prove a most valuable training ground for navigating the greater hazards of our own Hall in Cassan."

#

_December 10_

_ Queen's Solar, Rhemuth Castle_

_"Is that who I think it is?"_

_ "Yes, that's the assassin's wife!"_

_ "What is she doing here?"_

_ "Shhh! Keep your voice down; she might hear."_

Mirjana glanced around the Queen's solar. The furtive whispers came from the near corner of the room, close by the entrance to the chamber, and just slightly out of earshot of the Queen and Duchess Meraude, conversing quietly together on the far side of the room.

Araxie looked up at the sound of the opening door. Seeing Mirjana peek in, she rose with a welcoming smile to greet her.

"Duchess Mirjana! Do come in. I trust you received your present?"

The Torenthi bride offered a deep curtsey to her hostess. "I did. Thank you very much for sending it over. I was surprised to discover that Liam-Lajos even remembers me."

The Queen of Gwynedd laughed softly. "Well, you might wish to send him a portrait to show him what you look like now. Duke Matyas says that Liam-Lajos has only a vague impression of some skinny little girl cousin with pigtails."

Mirjana smiled. "I have no idea what he looks like now either. For me, he's still a busy little boy with scabbed knees. Not a very Royal impression, I'm afraid."

Duchess Meraude looked up from her embroidery with a reminiscent grin. "Oh, I remember that energy, if not the scabbed knees. I think those were replaced by training bruises once Nigel got hold of him. So, he sent you an early Twelfth Night present?"

Mirjana shrugged. "Well, I think it was meant as just a small token of remembrance, actually; some little reminders of my homeland. Fragrances, spices, hair combs, things of that sort."

_" 'Torenthi saffron,' do you think?"_

A stifled snort, and whispered reply. _ "Doesn't the Queen realize who she is?"_

Araxie stiffened slightly, turning towards the ladies in the corner with a coolly reproving look. "I most certainly do recognize our Duchess of Cassan," she told them, one blonde brow lifted in censure as she pretended not to understand the underlying implication of the overly loud whispers. She hoped that the questioner would take the unsubtle hint and drop the topic of her own volition rather than force her Queen to reprove her publicly.

Mirjana, however, gave the women a cool smile of her own. "I think, Your Majesty, that their concern was meant as a reference to my first husband and not my second. Certainly no one could think to question the Duke of Cassan's loyalty to the King your husband, I would hope?"

The three women glanced at each other nervously. "Of course not," one finally ventured.

"Excellent! It is good that we can agree on that much, at least. Then I must assume your concern must lie in the mistaken assumption that just because I was once married to Nikos von Brustarkia, I must also have shared in his loyalties and been complicit in his deeds." The smile turned icier. "On the contrary, I wasn't even complicit in the matter of my own marriage to that man. At least I certainly don't _recall_ ever giving my consent to the murder of my own father, nor to my abduction, rape, and subsequent five years of imprisonment in my own home, nor to the murder of my daughters. No, I owe my first husband no loyalty at all, and feel no need to honor his memory, for he deserved no such honor. On the contrary, I am extremely thankful to be freed from that demon-spawn and his cohorts, and His Majesty of Gwynedd has my undying gratitude for that." She crossed her arms, giving the gaping women a thoughtful look. "But I am certainly glad you are _not_ questioning the honor of His Grace of Cassan, for _that_ I would absolutely defend with all fervor!"

The room went absolutely silent after the Torenthi bride's quietly spoken words, no one quite certain of what to say. Araxie regarded the aghast ladies who had provoked Mirjana's tightly-restrained ire with just the faintest of smiles lurking at the corners of her lips, then after a long moment turned away from them. "Come, dear," she told Mirjana. "Show Meraude that reversible embroidery stitch you were adding to little Mikhail's shirt cuffs when I saw you last. I tried to copy the technique, but I think I must have missed a step, because the backside pattern of my stitchery doesn't quite match up with the front..."

#

_December 11_

_ The Parklands, Rhemuth Castle_

Rothana laughed quietly as she stood next to Mirjana in the Castle parklands watching their sons play together. "So, I hear you felt the need to add new life to the Court gossip about you, did you?"

Mirjana shrugged. "They were starting to repeat the same old things. It was growing repetitive. At least now they have some new gossip to dish out."

"Well, I suppose that's _one_ way to look at it!" The princess from Nur Hallaj gave her Torenthi friend a wry smile. "Though they may not dare. Queen Araxie blistered their ears in private afterwards for their discourtesy."

Mirjana chuckled. "Fortunately this is Gwynedd, so she only did so with words. In Byzantyun I would take that to mean hot irons were used. And people think the Torenthi are ruthless!"

Dhugal's page Aidan unfolded a fauldstool for Mirjana and placed a velvet cushion upon it for her to sit upon, then did the same for Rothana. The mothers sat, thanking the page and granting him leave to join Lady Mhairi in supervising the younger boys at their play. Soon all three younger boys were floating boats in the parklands pond, the older Aidan using a long stick to keep any of their boats from wandering too far out from the shore, while Lady Mhairi kept a careful eye on all three to make sure none of her young charges tumbled into the water.

"How is Mikhail settling in?" Rothana asked. "He seems to be playing quite nicely with Duncan Michael."

Mirjana sighed. "He does well enough, most days. He's quite comfortable speaking Gwyneddan now, even more so than I am. Playing with your Albin helped a great deal with that, of course. He still has days when he gets homesick for Byzantyun. And sometimes he still asks if Nikos is coming back, though that doesn't happen so often anymore. I don't think he truly understands yet what happened to his father, though." She bit her lip worriedly. "He asked me a few nights ago what a regicide was, so I know he must have heard something about what Nikos did."

Rothana nodded, a shadow crossing her features. "I'm so sorry. How did you answer his question?"

"Fortunately, I didn't have to. His Grace came home just at that moment, and the boys were too distracted to pursue the matter. All I've been able to bring myself to tell Mikhail thus far is that Nikos is dead, but he doesn't know the full details of how or why."

"Well, God be thanked for your husband's timely arrival home, but you know the question will come back up at some point." Rothana sighed. "I remember how hard it was for me, having to figure out some way to explain to Albin what Conall had done once he was old enough to hear the Court gossip and understand."

"How did you tell him?" Mirjana asked.

"One small piece at a time. Sometimes I'd wait until he brought up the topic, but sometimes I had to find occasions to bring it up myself, especially as he got older, understood a bit more, and grew more reluctant to discuss it. I had to make certain he understood that the shame was not his. It helped, though, that Albin never knew Conall, so there wasn't the emotional bond between son and father to deal with either, aside from the natural desire of a posthumous son to have and to know a father's love, of course. Mikhail knew and loved his father, so telling him the full truth of his father's death is likely to be an even more delicate undertaking." Rothana looked thoughtful. "Have you gotten to know Duchess Richenda yet?"

Mirjana shook her head. "Only a little. She showed me how to cut clothing in the Gwyneddan style, but then she had to return to Coroth a few days later."

"Ah. Well, she'll be back in time for Christmas Court and Twelfth Night, I expect. The reason I ask is that her Brendan was around the same age as your Mikhail when his father died, so she might have some more helpful advice to offer on your situation." Rothana gave Mirjana a sidelong glance. "Richenda's first husband was Bran Coris, the Earl of Marley who defected to Wencit's side."

"Oh!" Mirjana looked astonished. "I never made the connection. I know her present husband is the Duke of Corwyn, though, isn't he?"

"He is."

Mirjana looked thoughtful. "Then if you're recommending that I seek her out to ask how she handled her son's questions about his father, I must assume it's _not_ true she tried to kill her son to prevent her late husband from getting him back?" She gave a rueful smile at Rothana's shocked look. "Forgive me, but that was the rumor we heard back in Arjenol afterwards."

"Gracious no, she's devoted to Brendan! To _all _of her children. And, for that matter, to Duke Alaric."

"Was her marriage to Bran Coris a bad marriage?" Mirjana asked hesitantly.

Rothana shrugged. "I don't know that it was all that bad, really. It wasn't a love match, though, unlike her present one."

"I...suppose I could ask her how she told her son about his father. That might be a bit awkward, though...for her, I mean. Her husband is the man who killed Nikos, after all. Not that I hold that against him—or her—in the least." She studied her folded hands. "Is it very wicked of me, Rothana, to be glad that Nikos is dead?"

The lay sister regarded her with gentle sympathy in her dark eyes. "It's quite understandable, under the circumstances, Mirjana. But you mustn't let your feelings fester into bitterness and hatred; all that will do is continue his hold over you. His death has given you the chance to move on with your own life."

"I know." Mirjana sighed. "Still, it's hard for me not to hate him."

"Yes. I imagine forgiveness will be a long-term process for you. At least it is for me." Rothana's gaze flitted to her son. "Though I have my brief marriage to Conall to thank for my son, and I can never regret _that_, no matter what other regrets I might have. I hate what Conall did, but as far as hating _him_ goes, I think that has turned into more of a feeling of pity now. And some regret that I did not see through his deceptions sooner, that I never had the chance to try to dissuade him from his course and to counsel him to make whatever amends he could rather than defying Kelson to the end." She smiled sadly. "He might not have avoided a traitor's death at the end, but still, he might have been able to die with at least some small shred of honor left intact. It would've been something for a son to hold on to, knowing his father tried to make things right, at least at the end of his life."

Mirjana nodded. "There was nothing that Nikos could ever have said or done to make up for the death of my father and my daughters and the innocence that he stole from me, the years lost, but if he'd had time to show any signs of penitence for his actions towards King Kelson at least—if perhaps he could have made some sort of reparation by handing Teymuraz over to them or…well, _something_, I don't know what—perhaps it would be easier for me to find something to tell Mikhail that might ease the pain of learning what sort of man his father was. How do I ever explain to him that the father he loved was an evil man? Or that even such a man as Nikos was can sire a good son?"

"You can say the words until you're tired of repeating them, but in the end, I think Albin has come to understand it more by being shown good men to emulate, and encouraging him to pattern his actions by their example. He is learning enough discernment now to see the differences between his father's actions and the ones of men he truly admires, like the King or his grandfather Prince Nigel. At his age, he wants very much to please them and to pattern his own behavior after theirs, and hopefully that will continue as he grows older. Even when he was very little, we talked about the importance of always trying to do the next right thing, even if that thing that needed to be done is something difficult, like admitting when he's done something wrong and trying to make it right again. You have the advantage of marriage to an honorable man now, at least. Hopefully in time, Mikhail will be able to form a bond with him and learn from his example. Richenda's son by the Earl of Marley is quite devoted to Duke Alaric now, although I'm sure they must have had some difficulties adjusting to each other at the outset of Richenda's marriage." Rothana smiled. "And remember, even a boy's heroes may make mistakes of their own from time to time, but when that happens, the boy can learn as much from what that man does to try to rectify his error as he does from seeing how he avoids falling into error in the first place. It is important for any child to learn that it is all right not to be perfect, and that a few bad choices need not doom him to a life of failure or wrong-doing. It is an especially essential lesson for sons such as ours to learn, though. I would hate to think that Albin might grow up believing he is doomed to follow in Conall's footsteps if he should happen to make some bad decisions when he is still learning how to be a man." Rothana sighed. "It was a long series of wrong choices that proved to be my husband's undoing. Had he not been too proud and too fearful to admit his earlier errors and ask forgiveness for them, he'd not have compounded betrayal with more betrayal, and lies with more lies, until it all snowballed past the point of pardon."

The boys briefly rejoined their mothers, regaling them with tales of their boat race. "Mikhail's boat is fastest, Mama Miri!" Duncan Michael told Mirjana. "But I'm still gooder with fishes!"

Mikhail started giggling. "Duncan Michael's sail wouldn't fill, so he kept trying to get the fish to bump into his boat to make it go forward, but instead they just knocked his boat into Albin's."

Albin grinned. "It was pretty funny, Mama!" he told Rothana. "But I think Duncan Michael's boat will be all right once the sail's fixed. It's come partly unstitched, so Lady Mhairi's trying to fix it." He grinned at his younger friend. "I think Duncan Michael wants to be a fish-herder when he grows up."

"Well…that sounds like a _very_ interesting vocation," Rothana mused, her dark eyes dancing. "Perhaps he might want to discuss that plan with the Duke his father though."

"_I'm_ going to be a Duke when I grow up!" Mikhail proclaimed. "My Papa said so."

Mirjana glanced at her friend, stricken. The mirth in Rothana's eyes subsided to sympathetic acknowledgment of the unspoken truth they both knew.

"Well, there'll be years before any of you are either fish-herders or Dukes, but in the meantime, I believe Lady Mhairi is finished sewing your sail, Duncan Michael," Mirjana said quietly, glancing up at the young woman walking their way along with her husband's page. The boys' faces lit up, and they rushed back towards the lady-in-waiting, eager to begin their boat races again.

"I'm sure Duke Dhugal will make some place for Mikhail in his service, when the time comes," Rothana assured her distressed friend quietly once the boys were out of earshot. "If he shows an aptitude for the martial life, there are always situations for knights errant, and if he ends up being of a more scholarly bent, there's the Church."

"I know. But Nikos filled his head with such notions; how do I destroy his dreams and tell him the reality? And once he knows, how can I teach him not to envy Duncan Michael? He's so competitive…."

Rothana nodded. "Yes, little boys are. And big ones as well, I fear. Maybe Richenda can help you there as well. Her firstborn wasn't stripped of his birthright, but he has grown up knowing his destiny was to be an Earl, while her second son was destined at birth to become Duke of Corwyn one day. I'm sure there must have been times, at least when he was younger, when Brendan had a bit of trouble coping with the idea that his younger brother will someday outrank him."

Mirjana sighed. "I suppose. And at least Mikhail isn't baseborn. He can still aspire to knighthood, at least, and hopefully someday win greater honor and renown. If five years of hell with Nikos produced _any_ good result aside from my son, it was that."

"There is that much to be thankful for, yes." Rothana squeezed Mirjana's hand. "Although I'm sure that must seem like scant consolation for you at times."

"It is enough." She turned bleak eyes to Rothana. "It has to be."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_December 12, 1132_

_ Rhemuth Castle_

"I'm told you have quite a devoted champion in your new wife," Kelson told Dhugal with a faint grin as they walked through the apartment block of Rhemuth Castle. "Araxie says that Mirjana left three of her ladies-in-waiting verbally gutted to the point that her own _coup de grace_ afterwards was rendered almost a mere formality."

Dhugal looked bemused. "What did Mirjana say?"

"Oh, something about not owing her first husband any loyalty because he'd not earned it, so they could say anything they pleased about _him_, but that she'd defend _your_ honor with all fervor. Or words to that effect." Kelson stopped and took a quick look around. "Sorry, I've still not grown used to your new location. Which door leads to your apartment?"

"The next door up." Dhugal moved forward, detaching a key from his belt to unlock the door, giving the seemingly empty apartment a quick visual scan while holding the door open to allow the King access. He frowned. Something seemed vaguely amiss. No danger sense tingled—it wasn't _that_ sort of disturbance—but there were little things that somehow seemed...off. Something besides the silence of the empty room despite the early hour of the evening. He vaguely recalled Mirjana telling him something that morning about the boys spending the night with Ailidh's children, so that explained the unusual quiet. No, _that_ wasn't what felt so...different.

His amber eyes caught a glimpse of a veil dropped on the floor in the middle of the entryway. That seemed hardly in keeping with his wife's usual habits. She was quite tidy. His frown deepened as he stepped into the room, bending to scoop up the discarded head-covering. As he straightened, he noticed another garment lying on the floor further down the corridor. This one was a rich blue satin overgown.

"What in the...?"

Kelson watched as the confused Duke bent to pick up the discarded garment, beginning to laugh as he caught a glimpse of the utter bafflement on his blood-brother's face. "I think I might be redundant, Dhugal. Perhaps we can continue our conversation tomorrow instead."

Dhugal stared at the closed door of his bedchamber in confusion. There, draped over the door handle, was a long cascade of filmy white silk. He picked it up, staring at it in bewilderment. "What did you say, Kel?" He turned to find his King studying him, one hand hiding his mouth as if to conceal a grin, the gray Haldane eyes dancing with mirth.

"If that's a chemise you're holding, I'd say your lady has other plans for your evening." Kelson made a shooing motion. "Go. Make babies. I'll just leave and...ah...do boring kingly stuff," he joked. "But please tell your lady I'll need your undivided attention tomorrow evening. We still need to go over the list of Cassani candidates for knighthood. With clothes on."

Dhugal nodded, only vaguely registering the sound of the outer apartment door opening and closing behind Kelson as he opened his bedchamber door.

#

Mirjana lay curled up in the center of his bed, with only a soft, lightweight length of MacArdry tartan draped over her, sound asleep. Dhugal glanced out the window. Although the sun had fallen below the horizon, the twilight sky still showed enough light to reassure him that his homecoming was not much later than he'd planned earlier in the day.

He started to turn away, intending to let his sleeping bride rest, but she stirred, her long-lashed eyes fluttering open. She frowned slightly as he watched, looking confused by her surroundings, but then recognition flitted across her features and she sat up slowly, turning until she finally saw him standing in the doorway. She blushed.

"My lord! I—I'm very sorry, I did not mean to fall asleep…."

Dhugal smiled, closing the door behind him. "It's all right. Did you have a tiring day?" He carefully laid her discarded chemise to one side. "I imagine you must be exhausted; there's a trail of clothing out there that you were clearly too overcome with weariness to pick up." He grinned. "Kelson's probably wondering if we need to hire an extra chambermaid."

"Kelson?" Mirjana blinked sleepily, then her eyes widened. "The King was _here_? Oh, no!"

Dhugal pulled off his boots, setting them in a corner before loosening the lacings on his tunic. "Oh yes. But don't worry, he's off again. He said something about being redundant and having boring kingly stuff to do, I believe." The amber eyes laughed at her aghast look. "But he _did _have time to issue a Royal command before he left." He approached, holding out a wrist to her. "Could you loosen that cuff for me, please?"

She bent to examine the knotted lacing at his right wrist. "A command, my lord?"

"Aye, we're to make babies. I do believe I'm overdressed for the occasion, though, and since I can't very well invite Aidan or Séamidh in to assist me with you looking so fetching, I'm afraid you shall have to squire for me. Think you can manage that?" His eyes gleamed teasingly at her.

She blushed even rosier. "I'll try, my lord."

#

He held her close afterward, her face cradled in his shoulder as he pulled the length of tartan back over her to protect her from the evening's growing chill. "You look quite charming under my MacArdry colors," he whispered. "Not to mention _on_ them." Dhugal pulled back slightly to study his wife's face. She kept her eyes shyly downcast on his chest.

"I'm told you were quite my champion in the Queen's Solar recently."

Mirjana's eyes flickered upwards to his face briefly, then back down again. "I'm sorry, my lord. I did not wish to be quarrelsome, but I felt it necessary to make my loyalties clear."

"Oh, no need to apologize!" Dhugal regarded the lovely mystery in his embrace. "Have you had...other trouble with the ladies since then?"

She shook her head. "No, my lord. Although Mikhail..." She turned troubled eyes up at him. "I worry about what is being said in his hearing. A few nights ago, just before you arrived, he asked me what a regicide was." Her fingers plucked at the tartan covering her. "I sought counsel from Rothana. It helped a bit, but..." She shrugged helplessly. "He adored Nikos so. I worry that if I explain what it was his father tried to do, he will...not understand. He might even think his father was doing the right thing. And Nikos has filled his head with things that aren't true—that were _never_ true, except in his own grandiose schemes." She bit her lip. "The boys were playing yesterday, and the conversation turned to what they were going to be when they grow up. Mikhail thinks he's going to be a Duke!"

Dhugal's eyebrows rose. "Which duchy did Nikos promise the lad? He wasn't a duke himself, was he?"

She snorted derisively. "No, but Teymuraz promised him Arjenol. Either that or, if he didn't wish to wait so long, Corwyn."

"Corwyn? Just as well then that Alaric—" Dhugal broke off the sentence abruptly as it dawned on him that, no matter how relieved Mirjana might feel over her late husband's death, the observation that Morgan had eliminated the pretender to his own duchy might still be an insensitive thing to bring up to the man's widow.

"Yes," she whispered sadly. "It was just that he should meet his end so."

Dhugal pulled his wife closer, cradling her in his arms. "I'm sorry, sweeting. So sorry you've been carrying all these burdens, while all this time I've been focused on my own..."

"Your own not inconsiderable problems? Of course you've been distracted, my lord."

"I shouldn't be so distracted that I don't even notice what my wife is struggling with." He kissed her brow. "Mirjana, would you do me a big favor?"

"My lord?" She looked quizzically up at him.

His lips twitched. "Exactly. Sweeting, we're not in public. We're not even _clothed_. Do you think maybe you could bring yourself to call me by my name occasionally, at least when we're alone? I _do_ have one, you know." He grinned. "When you call me 'my lord' in bed, I'm not entirely certain if I've got a wife or have somehow gained a love slave!"

Her mouth dropped open slightly. After a moment, she giggled. "I thought slavery was illegal in Gwynedd?"

"Aye, it is! Which is why I hope you can appreciate being 'my lorded' in bed is a little awkward for me." He smiled. "It's Dhugal, in case you've managed to forget."

"I haven't. Dhugal Ardry MacArdry McLain." Her eyes lit with a mischievous grin. "Can you remember mine, or do I need to Mind-Speak it to you again?"

"Oh, I _remember _it now; I'm just not so certain I can _say_ it!"

#

_December 14, 1132_

_ Rhemuth Castle Great Hall_

The Duke and Duchess of Cassan sat at the High Table alongside the Royal Family and the Duke and newly-returned Duchess of Corwyn, overlooking the lesser nobility and gentry seated at the tables below the dais. The Duke and Duchess of Claibourne were to have joined them as well, but the Duchess had begged off earlier in the evening, as they had just arrived in Rhemuth earlier in the day and were still exhausted from their travels. Instead, Prince Rory and Duchess Noelie, arrived just two days before from Meara, had been invited to sit with Rory's parents Prince Nigel and Duchess Meraude on Araxie's right. Dhugal and Mirjana found themselves seated on Kelson's left, between him and Alaric and Richenda. Various earls and countesses flanked the ducal couples on either end of the table, along with a bishop or two.

"I hate sitting at High Table," Alaric confided to Mirjana with a faint smile.

His wife chuckled. "That's only because you hate having to be on display and on your best behavior."

He raised a sandy eyebrow. "That's not quite true, dear. Being seated at the High Table brings out a very strong urge _not_ to be on my best behavior."

Mirjana giggled softly, then glanced at Dhugal. He was smiling, his amber eyes crinkling at the corners slightly.

"Should we show my lady 'The Game,' Alaric?"

Richenda laughed. "Dhugal!" She suppressed a smile.

Mirjana looked puzzled. "What is 'The Game?'"

Alaric grinned broadly. "Do you mean the Stare Game?"

Dhugal nodded. "Seems particularly appropriate for the occasion."

Mirjana's bafflement grew. "What is this game?"

Dhugal pushed some choice morsels of food to her side of the trencher as he tried to figure out the best way to explain the joke to her. "It's sort of like a preemptive strike at the gossip mongers. You remember how we attracted stares and whispers last time we ate up here?" His wife nodded. "Well, the object of the game is to pick a person or persons—preferably the ones who are providing the most grist for the rumor mill—and then just watch them. Watch them until they notice what you're doing, and _just_ when they start to realize you're watching them, you look away. Turn to your dinner partners, talk amongst yourselves. You needn't talk about them, of course; in fact, we rarely do. But it makes them wonder what you're talking about, and they're too caught off guard trying to figure out what _you're_ up to, they forget to get up to anything themselves. Messes with their minds." Dhugal's eyes gleamed with mischief.

Mirjana turned back to Alaric in amazement."And _you_ do this...game?" she asked him, her expression an odd mixture of amused and horrified.

"On occasion. When someone is being especially annoying." His gray eyes looked past her at Dhugal, echoing his mirth. "It can be surprisingly effective, as long as you don't do it very often. You wouldn't want them to catch on."

"Oh. I see." Her eyes swept the Great Hall, landing eventually on a small knot of ladies staring back at her. They hastily looked away, acting nonchalant. Mirjana pretended to turn her attention back to her food, and after a minute they started staring at her again, whispering among themselves.

She sent a mental picture of the ladies to Dhugal. _Those are the spiteful ladies from the Queen's Solar,_ she told him.

_Shall we give them something new to talk about, then?_

_ You first. Let me see how it's done._

Dhugal turned his shiral stare to that corner of the room, his piercing gaze landing on the whispering women. Mirjana's gaze followed his, also coming to rest on the trio. They continued to watch in silence until one of the ladies realized they had come under scrutiny. The whispers immediately died as the ladies suddenly took a keen interest in their food.

"So, my dear, do you think it will snow by Christmas?" Dhugal said quietly, turning to Mirjana with affected indifference belied by only the barest hint of a smile lurking about his lips.

"It might. The atmosphere has a decidedly cold feel on occasion," she answered, biting her lip slightly to stifle a laugh.

Dhugal turned towards Kelson, asking a few casual questions about the following day's schedule. Mirjana stole a glance back at the trio of women. They were glancing uncertainly at each other as they watched her husband speaking with the King. After a moment, Dhugal turned his gaze back to the women, arching a brow slightly before turning to look at his wife. "They look a bit worried," he said. "I wonder why?" He glanced at Alaric.

The Duke of Corwyn grinned. "You are a wicked man, Dhugal. I can tell you're your father's son."

Dhugal laughed. "Few people refer to the Auxiliary Bishop of Rhemuth as a 'wicked man,' Alaric."

Alaric Morgan chuckled. "Few people actually grew up with Duncan. I _did_! Who do you think taught me that trick?"

#

_December 18_

_ The Duke of Corwyn's apartments_

"You do understand, I hope, that the tactics Dhugal and Alaric taught you for fending off whispers and stares here in Rhemuth are entirely the wrong tack to take once you depart here for Cassan?" Duchess Richenda said as she looked up from her needlework, a slight smile playing across her face as she glanced at Mirjana. "Those ladies who are spreading gossip about you are merely the spiteful sort of women who feel the need to demonstrate their own superiority by attempting to pull others down. They believed you to be an easy target, and so they went after you. Now that they have seen your ability to defend yourself from their sort of petty attacks, they'll likely start looking for fresh game." The Duchess of Corwyn stabbed her needle through the fine linen of the garment she was sewing for Briony. "But in Cassan, you will be dealing with a different sort of situation. _Their_ distrust and suspicion of you will be based not on mere smug arrogance, but on very real fears and lingering anger over their losses at Llyndruth Meadows." She smiled sadly. "Hopefully in time, as they get to know you, that hostility will fade. After all, even the most mind-shattered of battle survivors would hopefully come to realize that a young woman who was under a decade old when Wencit moved against Gwynedd would hardly have been in a position to influence her King, much less condone wartime atrocities. No, their hostility against you won't be personal, but it will be directed against what you represent. And so mere quelling tactics like Alaric's 'Stare Game' aren't going to work, and would most likely be counterproductive. You don't want Dhugal's household in Cassan to think you _more_ arrogant than they already might fear you to be!"

Mirjana nodded. "Of course not, Your Grace. I would hate for them to think me arrogant at all."

Richenda paused a moment to gather the thin fabric. "On the other hand, while you don't want them to think you are arrogant or that you consider yourself superior to them, you also want to ensure that they recognize you are in authority, at least over your own ducal household. Some might try to snub you or be insubordinate. You can't command them to like you, of course, but as Dhugal's Duchess, you still warrant their respect. It may be grudgingly given at first, but it _should_ be given at least in deference to your rank, if not to your person. If proper respect is _not_ given, Dhugal may need to address the matter, or there might be situations when he is not available to do so and that would fall upon you. You will need to take the high road in those conflicts, letting the other person know that you understand their cause for concern about you, but regardless of that, they still have a duty to you as their Duchess even as you have a duty to them as your people."

Mirjana frowned thoughtfully. "Did you have…difficulties?...with your people of Corwyn adjusting to the Dowager Countess of Marley becoming their new Duchess?" It was the most diplomatic way Mirjana could think of to pose the question, and she hoped the Duchess of Corwyn would not take offense.

Richenda gave a rueful chuckle. "Oh, yes! Not so much with Alaric's senior officers; fortunately most of them quickly realized that I was completely loyal to their Duke, despite the…unfortunate coincidence of my previous marriage to Bran Coris. The junior officers took far longer to win over, though. Those officers _and_ their wives, that is, though of course many of those wives were already installed in the Ducal household as my ladies-in-waiting as is customary, before I ever discovered how they felt about me. They seemed welcoming enough on the surface. Certainly none of them gave me overt reasons to dismiss them from my service, though of course very few people will show obvious rudeness to a Duchess. But after a while, I began to notice that they seemed reluctant to accept me as manager of my own household. Oh, I could make minor decisions without having them questioned—what to eat, what gown to wear—but as for anything affecting Corwyn, or even any changes to Coroth Castle, such as purchasing new furnishings for a room or making major changes to the decor, those had to be cleared by Alaric first. Or at the very least, my ladies would ask their husbands for permission before following through. At first, I was mystified. I thought they were acting on Alaric's orders. You can imagine how hurt I felt, feeling more like a mere resident in my own demesne instead of its mistress!"

Alaric's duchess looked up from her stitching, glancing at Mirjana with a rueful smile. "Alaric, on the other hand, knew exactly what was going on, but he didn't know how to explain his officers' feelings about me. He didn't want to hurt my feelings. But by avoiding the topic as avidly as he did every time I tried to bring it up, he just ended up reinforcing my belief that the orders were coming from the top down, and not allowing me to serve as Regent for Corwyn whenever he had to be away also added to that impression." She shook her head. "Men! He was doing all the wrong things for all the most well-meant reasons, poor dear. If he'd only explained what was happening from the very outset, that might not have changed anyone's feelings towards me, but at least _I_ would have known what was going on, and maybe I could have figured out some way to win our household over sooner." Richenda sighed. "Communication is vital in a marriage, Mirjana. Hopefully Dhugal will be a bit more forthcoming when the two of you run into problems that need to be resolved together, but if he's not, don't allow him to shut you out. He might _think_ he's doing you a favor in trying to shoulder the burdens on his own, but he's really not."

"What made them finally accept you, in the end?"

Richenda smiled softly. "Our son Kelric. One of the reasons the junior officers distrusted me was that they believed I might somehow betray Alaric in favor of my son Brendan. They worried I might want Brendan to be Corwyn's heir, not just Marley's. Having a daughter by Alaric did nothing to alleviate those worries, of course. It wasn't until I had borne a son for Corwyn that they accepted me fully."

Mirjana looked down at her lap. "I see. It will be different for me, of course." Tears shimmered in her eyes. "My husband already has a Ducal Heir. My son by Nikos will be seen as a threat to him, won't he? And as for any future sons…." She shook her head sadly. "What Cassani would want to be ruled by a half-Torenthi Duke, if something were to happen to Duncan Michael, given their hatred and fear of my people after the battle at Llyndruth Meadows? Or, worse, if something _did _happen, who would believe that I had nothing to do with it, or that Mikhail did not?"

"Oh, Mirjana!" Richenda stared at the younger Duchess, compassion in her cornflower blue eyes as she struggled with finding the words to comfort her. "Certainly there will be distrust at first. But such strong emotions can't be sustained indefinitely. In time, surely they'll eventually start to fade, once you've had time to establish yourself and they can see how loyal you—and all your sons—are to both Dhugal and Duncan Michael."

"Yes, but _when_? After my lord is already dead and Duncan Michael is Duke of Cassan? Once the people see that Mikhail will never be anything but a knight errant, and hopefully one in the employ of someone far away? And what of my future sons; how will _they_ have to prove their loyalty? How long until the people of Cassan stop waiting for one of them to slip a knife into their Duke's back, or poison into his wine cup?" The green eyes filled with despair. "What if my husband or his heir were simply to fall ill and die? Would that somehow be laid at my doorstep, as the 'Deryni witch from Torenth' who saw her opportunity to take over Cassan?"

"Mirjana…." Richenda put down her needlework, rising to cross over to the weeping woman and gather her into her arms, but there was nothing reassuring she could say against such arguments.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_January 6, 1133_

_ Rhemuth Castle_

"What is wrong, my lord?"

Dhugal continued to stare unseeingly at the fire in the hearth.

"Dhugal? It's almost time for us to go down for the Court and Revels…." Mirjana gazed uncertainly at her husband, still seated in his study wearing informal garb rather than the attire one might expect a Duke to wear for a formal Twelfth Night Court. "Shall I call for Séamidh and Aidan to assist you with your wardrobe?"

The Duke of Cassan jerked his attention back to the present, looking up at his new wife with a strained smile. "I'm sorry; I was…woolgathering. No, I'll call for them. Thank you for calling my attention to the time." He stood, a shadowed expression crossing his features as he walked out of the room.

A knock sounded on the apartment outer door. Mirjana, already following Dhugal out of his study, turned in the opposite direction to answer. Lady Ailidh stood in the corridor, Ciaran's and Aine Rose standing to either side of her and Jarrett and Trina in her arms. "I'm here with the imps, then, God bless Lady Mhairi's soul!" she said with a grin as she entered the apartment. "Please tell me she's not come to her senses and run off screaming?"

Mirjana laughed. "No, she's in the nursery with Mikhail and Duncan Michael, no doubt wondering what manner of madness has overtaken her in offering to watch the children tonight." She waved a hand down the length of the apartment's inner corridor. "Down that way, all the way to the end."

"Got it! I'll let her know that the Corwyn nursemaids have offered to combine forces, if she needs allies against this unruly lot." Ailidh led her troops down the short length of corridor, somehow managing to look stunning in her Court finery despite the small army of urchins in her wake. She returned much more quickly than Mirjana expected, startling the Duchess.

"Woolgathering?" Ailidh teased.

"I suppose." Mirjana turned to face her, looking uncertain. "What does it mean? My lord used the same word just a few minutes ago." She gave a faint smile. "I can't imagine it has anything to do with sheep, though!"

Ailidh laughed. "No, it means to be lost in your own thoughts. Except, of course, when it really _does_ mean wool gathering." The Border woman sobered as she studied Mirjana's face. "What's wrong, Your Grace?"

"Oh, it's just…." Mirjana bit her lip, wondering how much she could confide in this woman of her household who had become a friendly acquaintance, yet Mirjana had sensed that her husband's Transha retainer still held something of herself back in reserve. "It's my lord husband," she said at last. "He seems…quite preoccupied today, for some reason, but he's not said why. And actually, he's seemed a bit despondent all week, but today he's hardly said a word."

A look of sudden realization crossed Ailidh's face. "Oh! No one's told you, then." The red-haired woman sighed. "Today was Dhugal's wedding anniversary. For his first marriage, that is. It would have been their fourth year." A shadow flitted across her features. "I should have thought of that and checked on him earlier. God knows _I _had enough reasons to hate Twelfth Nights too, until my Ciaran was born these six years past, at least. Certain dates can bring back powerful memories. I don't suppose he can exactly skip Court, though. Is Séamidh being knighted this year?"

"I don't think so..." Mirjana said uncertainly.

"No, wait, the lad's but seventeen, isn't he? Next year, then." Ailidh glanced down the apartment corridor towards Dhugal's chamber, but the door remained firmly shut. She looked back at Mirjana, giving her a careful study. "You're looking well, Your Grace, if a little tired. You wouldn't perchance be breeding yet, would you?"

"I..." Mirjana was spared the necessity of a reply by the opening of her husband's chamber door. He stepped out, resplendent in the finery of a Border Duke, Séamidh and Aidan following close behind him. Dhugal gave the two women a vague nod as he entered the central area, then stopped short to peer more closely at Ailidh.

"You look...different."

"Aye. This is what I look like when I've cleaned up a bit, combed the snarls from my hair, and don't have any bairns clutching at my skirts or latched onto my bubbies like leeches. And you, _a chara_, look like hell."

His lips twitched slightly in an almost-smile. "You sound the same, though." He offered his arm to Mirjana. "Shall we head down, my lady?"

"As you wish, my lord."

Dhugal glanced back at Ailidh. "Where's Jass?"

"With the knight candidates from Cassan." Ailidh arched an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, aye. Right. I'd best have a word with them myself before Court starts."

"Aye. Shall I take Her Grace down to the Hall, then?"

He nodded. "That would probably be best, aye. I'll rejoin you once the knighting ceremony is over, unless Kelson needs me up on the dais."

Ailidh frowned. "If he does, he's a blind man. You're not thinking of staying through the Revels tonight, are you?"

"Through the...? Oh. No." Dhugal shook his head.

"Good. I'll have Jass pour some Ballymar whisky down you later."

#

"Jesú, it's hit him rough," Jass said quietly to Ailidh much later that night, after he'd poured his Duke into bed and returned to his own apartment. "An' tha' damned Court dinnae help matters either."

"I saw the quiet conference at the dais before that third accolade," Ailidh said. "What was all that about?"

"Officially? One o' th' Cassani candidates said it had been a lifelong dream o' his tae be knighted by th' King's own hand." A wry smile. "Unofficially? One o' his brother candidates told me later tha' th' real reason he'd asked tae be knighted by Kelson was tha' he dinnae wish tae be given th' accolade by a Duke who had 'betrayed his own people' by marryin' a 'Torenthi witch.' Apparently his da died at Llyndruth Meadows."

Ailidh winced. "That's not going to sit well with Dhugal once he finds out." She bit her lip worriedly. "He _didn't_ overhear that, did he?"

"Nay, he'd left th' Great Hall by tha' time. Still, ye know if one Cassani is thinkin' tha' way, chances are there's a lot more thinkin' it an' no' sayin' it. An' some who _will_ say it, an' th' devil take th' consequences. An' Dhugal's nae fool. I think he knew wha' was up, but dinnae wish tae make an issue of it. A candidate _does_ hae th' right tae be knighted by his King's hand, after all, if th' King's willin' tae grant him th' accolade."

"Aye." Ailidh sighed. "Well, at least the people of Transha are still in full support of him, though that presents its own difficulties, I suppose."

"Aye, it does. He cannae jus' surround himself wi' Transha men; it'll give th' impression he cares nowt for Cassan an' Kierney, an' tha's far from th' case, whatever folks may think right now. Tha's no' an impression he can afford tae give." He poured himself a shot of Ballymar whisky, then handed the flask over to Ailidh. "An' it looks like I'm done wi' drinkin' wi' th' lads of an evenin' when we're back in Cassan, by the by."

"Oh?"

Jass took a sip of his drink. "Dhugal's asked me tae head up Her Grace's entourage, at least whenever they have tae travel separately. He says he needs a man he can trust wi' her security. I dinnae mind, but it will mean needin' tae have my wits sharp at all times, I'm thinkin'." He eyed the beverage in his glass somewhat wistfully, then grinned. "O' course, I told Dhugal tha' if I'm no' spendin' my evenin's out wi' th' lads, I'll be spendin' them in bed wi' my wife, so if ye're no' ready for another bairn right away, ye'd best get yer friend Celsie tae stitch up a wee bit o' magic…." He winked at his wife, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"Jass MacArdry, if you give me another babe before the ones I'm tending now are even weaned, I'll be taking a few stitches to _you_!"

He crowed with delight. "Aye, somehow I thought ye might say tha'!" Jass grinned and set down his glass to pull his wife close. "I love ye, _chuisle_."

"And don't think sweet-talk will help either!" Ailidh tried not to smile, but the corners of her lips wouldn't cooperate, so she hid their betrayal by burying her face in her husband's shoulder instead, stifling her laughter in his warm skin.

#

Dhugal lay in the darkness, staring sightlessly at his bedcurtains, unable to sleep despite his exhaustion and the copious amounts of whisky he had consumed as soon as he could decently tear himself away from his official duties. The bed whirled slowly in the darkness as if being sucked down the world's slowest whirlpool, washing it away. He wished the whirlpool would drain him of his turbulent emotions as well.

A quiet tap sounded on the door. A moment later, soft light streamed in. The pale green luminescence of handfire illuminated a woman's face. No, not simply any woman's; this one was his wife now. His mind still held some dim awareness of that, even if the past few months still felt unreal to him, like some nightmare he might someday wake up from.

A silent anger filled him. Anger at Catriona for leaving him behind so soon, so suddenly, without any chance to prepare for the void she would leave behind. Anger at Teymuraz for stealing his life from him, for the devastation he had wrought. Anger at the beautiful young woman intruding on his private pain. Anger at his people for their blind prejudices against an entire Kingdom for the actions of a few, committed nearly half his lifetime ago. Anger at the whole world for continuing on….

Anger at himself.

The Torenthi lass crawled into bed beside him, curling up behind him to pull him close to her.

"No' tonight, lassie. I cannae," he whispered, lapsing into the Border dialect of his boyhood.

"I know," she said quietly, soft lips brushing against his shoulder. "I just didn't want you to have to grieve alone." She stroked his hair, loosening its binding and starting to unbraid it. "I know I'm not the woman you want tonight, but might I at least help you fall asleep?"

He stared blindly into the dark shadows in a corner of the room. "She never even saw our daughter!" The words had sprung unbidden from God knows where. Dhugal wished he could call them back, but they whirled slowly down the whirlpool draining away the rest of his life.

"I'm sorry." Wordless comfort blanketed him, easing its way into his mind, past shields too fragile now to hold the pent up memories and emotions back anymore. Like a dam bursting under floodwaters it gave way. Mirjana pulled her husband close, accepting the torrent, holding him tightly to keep him from being dragged further under by the crushing weight of his grief….

_Catriona's merry laugh sounded from the other side of the door. Duncan smiled at the young squire who entered the room before him to announce his arrival to the King. Kelson sat in his private withdrawing room, grinning at his blood brother, while Dhugal sat on the bearskin rug in front of the hearth, chuckling at Kelson's story. Behind Dhugal, Catriona sat, unbraiding Dhugal's hair and running her fingers through the thick coppery locks._

_ Kelson's gray eyes glanced over at Duncan, still standing in the doorway. "Come in! I was just telling Cat about Dhugal's misspent youth."_

_ "Which was what, just last week?" she teased, tousling Dhugal's unbound hair. He laughed, reaching a hand behind him to capture hers, giving her fingers a light squeeze before releasing them. She smiled, parting his hair to rebraid it, quietly singing a song in the language of the Isles as she reunited the three strands into one._

_ "Don't tell me you priests of Shiele even have a prayer-song for the braiding of hair!"_

_ "Aye, we do!" She tugged gently at his braided locks before holding out a hand for the leather cord she'd given him to hold. "Three-in-one, like the Trinity." She clubbed the end of the braid, binding it tightly with the cord, tucking the loose ends into the wrap once she was finished. "See, we find teaching moments in everything. There you are, then!" _

_ Dhugal flashed her a warm smile over his shoulder as he leaned back slightly against her. Cat's arms wrapped around him in a loose embrace as she looked up at Duncan. "Kelson was just sharing the story about Dhugal's first time to serve the high table. Poor lad!"_

###

_A gentle shower, though the sun shone brightly overhead beyond the shimmer of golden light surrounding them. The late summer air was warm, heating the falling droplets cascading down around them._

_ "It takes a certain amount of control," the Lady of Llyr was saying, though Dhugal was only half listening as she spoke, his attention newly diverted to how the falling moisture was dampening her clothing, making it cling to her wet skin._

_ "That spell's not the only thing taking a certain amount of control, _chuisle_!" he teased, sending Catriona a swift vision of herself as he saw her. She blushed, ending the water working with a self-conscious laugh._

_ "I'm sorry; obviously I didn't think this through very well!" She grinned as she turned her back to him. "Fortunately there's another spell that should help with that." Lifting her arms, she added a quick gesture to a softly spoken series of words. A warm breeze began to encircle them both, whipping at their wet clothing and briskly caressing their skin until both were thoroughly dry again._

###

_"He's staying."_

_ The midwife sputtered in protest. "But he's a _man_! It's not proper!"_

_Catriona gave a short bark of laughter, wincing as a new contraction began. "He's seen me in a shift and even less, and he's the one who put this baby in me; he can damn well stay to help me push him back out!" She paused to take a few rhythmic breaths to ease the pain of her labor before continuing. "My husband is a Deryni healer. He might not be trained in midwifery, but he knows how to ease pain." She gave the midwife a feral smile. "And if you _don't_ let him help me, I'll ease my own pain by ripping your entrails out and stuffing them down your interfering throat!"_

_ Dhugal laughed. "Ah, Cat, _a chuisle mo chridhe_, that's not particularly helpful." He gave the midwife an apologetic look as he moved to his wife's side, laying one hand on her tightening abdomen. "Come now, son, give your mother a break; she's labored long enough." He laid his free hand on Catriona's sweat-damp forehead, joining in link with her, wincing a bit at the contraction he now shared with her, although it was already beginning to ease its grip. "Jesú, have they been that strong all day?"_

_ "No, they build. But they've been nearly that bad for the past several hours, just growing more frequent. I've had them nearly that strong since Nones, I think." Cat glanced at the midwife for confirmation._

_ "Yes. I'm afraid this baby is taking his own sweet time," the midwife said, still looking none too happy at the presence of a man in the room._

_ Dhugal continued his gentle probe through his wife's mind, finding the centers that controlled pain. As the next contraction began to build, he focused on blocking the pain, allowing just enough sensation of pressure to leak through so that his wife could concentrate on assisting the midwife's efforts._

_ "Very good. You're almost there, I think," the woman said behind him. "All right, once the next contraction starts, I want you to push."_

_ A half hour later, as the bells outside rang for Compline, the heir to Cassan, Kierney and Transha made his entry into the world._

###

_ Catriona mashed stewed peas with the back of a spoon, then tried to feed the green mushy substance to Duncan Michael. The infant's tongue pushed outward, ejecting the pasty peas. Cat scraped the mess off her son's lips and tried again._

_ "I don't think he likes peas," Dhugal said, chuckling._

_ "Well, I can hardly feed him wine-braised coney, and he needs something solid in him. He's getting too old for milk alone to satisfy him."_

_ "We're having wine-braised coney? Let me guess…my father's dining with us tonight."_

_ She laughed. "Yes, Duncan had a craving. I swear if that man asks me for this dish one more time, I'm going to ask him when his baby is due."_

_ Dhugal grinned. "He'd better _not_ be pregnant! That would be a bigger scandal than _me _turning up as his long-lost son!"_

_ "Oh, I don't know. I'm sure the Church of Gwynedd would look upon it as a miracle. The Church of Llyr definitely would!" Catriona chuckled as she handed their messy infant to his father for a wipe-down before turning to answer the tapping on their apartment door. "Just imagine the pain relief he'd need, though," she added as she opened the door to let their guest in._

_ Duncan smiled down at her quizzically. "The pain relief who would need?" he asked as he stepped inside._

_ "You." She favored him with an impish grin that grew at his startled expression. "If you were to conceive, that is."_

_ "To conceive…of what?" the bishop asked warily._

_ She pointed at his grandson, snugly held in the arms of his chortling father. "One of _those_ little miracles!"_

###

_ His wife studied her reflection in the polished brass mirror, tilting her head thoughtfully._

_ "Come to bed, _chuisle_," Dhugal coaxed. "I've been famished for you all day. Damn meetings!"_

_ She laughed softly as she turned to face him. "I'll be there in a moment. I'm just memorizing this shape before I lose it again." Her clear green eyes teased him._

_ "What do you mean, before you…. Wait—do you mean?..."_

_ "What would you like to name your daughter?" Catriona's smile widened as she watched the myriad emotions on her husband's face. It settled eventually on joy._

_ "I…. Oh, Jesu, a daughter!" He watched her cross the room to climb into bed beside him. "So soon?"_

_ "That's an odd name, and rather long. 'Oh Jesú A Daughter So Soon MacArdry McLain' simply won't do. Let's try another one."_

_ Dhugal laughed, drawing his wife into his arms. "Well, give me a bit more time to think about it!" He kissed her deeply, then drew back to look into her eyes with a grin. "Shall we rock the baby to sleep?"_

_ She nuzzled his neck. "Oh, why not? When she's born, I'll just introduce you as the man who kept poking her on the head constantly. She'll probably spend the rest of her life keeping _you_ from getting a good night's rest." Cat's eyes filled with mischief. "We could name her Caldreana Ailidh…."_

_ Dhugal roared with laughter._

Mirjana held her husband tightly as his tears dampened the soft linen of her night-rail. The torrent of images and emotions was beginning to subside as Dhugal struggled to regain control of the flood.

At last he managed to pull away, mentally if not yet physically, the shock of the sudden upwelling having a sobering effect. "I'm sorry, Mirjana. I never meant to loose all of that on you."

"I know." She stroked the loose hair away from his face. "I never meant to unleash all that. I was hoping just to ease you into sleep." She studied him in the dim moonlight. "I think it needed to come out, though, in some way. You can't hold such feelings in forever, or they eat you up from within trying to get out. Believe me, I know."

"Aye." Amber eyes studied her sadly, then Dhugal drew her close, kissing her tenderly. "Thank you for trying to help."

"Shall I try again? I think now that you're in better control of your shields, I can get it right this time."

He took a deep breath, heaved it back out in a sigh. "If you like."

She extended a tentative mind-touch once again, this time easing her way past deliberately lowered shields to touch the control centers governing sleep. One soft brush and his eyes drifted shut, his body sinking immediately into a deep slumber, freed at least for this evening from painful dreams. Mirjana waited for his breathing to fall into the natural rise and fall of deep sleep then allowed herself a few quiet tears of her own.

#

_January 7, 1133_

_ Rhemuth Castle_

"The Duke and his entourage will be leaving at the end of the week for Cassan." Jass MacArdry stood at attention before his Duchess, carefully using his proper Court diction so she could more easily understand him. "His Grace has asked for me to remain behind so I can head up your entourage here until he has reached Cassan and has been updated on the situation there. If his journey is uneventful and he decides Ballymar Castle is secure enough for you, Ailidh and I will bring you and the children through by way of a Transfer Portal so you'll not have to endure over a week's journey by coach."

"I understand his concern, Sir Jass, but my place is at my lord's side."

Jass raised a dark chestnut eyebrow at Dhugal's lady. "Your Grace, there _is_ a possibility of danger to you. I don't know if the Duke has told you about his people's history..."

Mirjana nodded. "I know. Buthe is so very alone right now. I cannot leave him to face all that hostility alone. He's fighting a battle on two fronts, Jass—without _and_ within. He needs support."

Her husband's retainer nodded. "No one agrees with you on that more than I, my lady. But if I might respectfully point out one thing—it would hardly be good for his state of mind if you or your son should be killed before you even made it as far as Cassan. And it's a long journey over land, especially for young children. Far better to wait until Dhugal arrives in Cassan, then join him by means of the Portal afterward if you must."

She sighed. "I suppose you're right. But I _shall _join him in Cassan. His people can't get to know me for who I really am if I don't dare set foot in Ducal lands."

Jass gave her a faint smile. "Well, that's for you and His Grace to hash out. I'm just here to keep your soul housed in your body, not to argue good sense into you." The smile turned into a chuckle. "I don't know why it is that MacArdry men have such a habit of marrying stubborn wives!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine **

_January 15, 1133 _

_ Ballymar Castle, Cassan_

"Duchess Margaret, allow me to present my wife Mirjana. Mirjana, this is the Dowager Duchess Margaret, my late grandfather Jared's widow."

The older woman looked at the new Duchess of Cassan in some surprise, though the expression swiftly changed to one of welcome. "Oh, gracious! How delightful to meet you, dear. Lord Deveril did tell me that Dhugal had gotten betrothed, but he hadn't told me you two had gotten wed already." The dowager duchess smiled. "Then again, I _have_ been away in Kierney for the past month and a half." She studied the shyly smiling bride. "Mirjana...what a lovely name for such a lovely young lady. Where are you from, my dear? Nur Hallaj?"

Mirjana glanced swiftly at Dhugal, then met the older woman's gaze. "My mother's kin were from Nur Hallaj, Your Grace, but I was born in Arjenol."

"In Arjenol? But...that's..." Duchess Margaret's brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry, but I thought that was a duchy in Torenth. But surely..." She gave Dhugal an uncertain look.

Mirjana nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. My father and his kin are Torenthi. _Were_, that is. My father no longer lives."

"I...see," Margaret said weakly, her face paling slightly. "And...who are your father's kin?"

Mirjana gripped her husband's hand tightly. "He was of the House of Furstán. But I am of the House of MacArdry McLain now."

The dowager duchess stared at her new granddaughter-in-law with barely suppressed shock.

#

_January 18_

_ Ballymar Castle_

Mirjana looked around at her new bedchamber, wondering yet again what manner of woman her husband had been previously married to. There seemed little in the room to indicate it had ever been a woman's bedchamber, much less that of a Duchess. The furnishings were suitable enough for a person of noble birth, but something about the décor seemed more suited to a man's tastes than the average lady's. Also odd was the straight edged blade next to the wash basin.

No, there must have been some mistake. Maybe this had once been the Duke's own quarters, but for some reason the household staff had seen fit to change accommodations around in his absence. She'd meant to ask, but he'd been kept busy since her arrival in Cassan three days previously, and the one time she had managed to spend more than a few moments with him, the question had fled her mind. Granted, he'd had some delightful ideas on how to keep her from thinking very much at all...

Her lips curved in a smile as she recalled the unexpected dalliance, the golden warmth in his eyes as he'd apologized for being so caught up in work since her arrival. "It seems like the moment I think I can get free, another thing gets tossed at me that needs my immediate attention. It's always like this when I first return from Rhemuth, though. Give it a few days, and it should settle down a bit." He'd drawn her into his counting room for a brief moment of privacy and a few swift kisses, but somehow it hadn't stopped there. Not that she was at all regretful of that. That had been about the only pleasant interlude she'd had in the entire three days since her arrival in Cassan.

Mirjana sighed, her eyes drifting back to the large portrait on the wall in front of her bed. It was a magnificent painting of the late Duchess of Cassan, the artist's eye and hand skillfully capturing the likeness of a young woman who looked to be on the verge of laughter, green eyes nearly identical to her young son's dancing with mirth as she smiled out at the viewer. The tawny hair seemed as though it might be ruffled by the slightest of breezes drifting in through the nearby window, if only someone were to open it. Not that Mirjana had any desire to open an upper-story window in a cold castle on a craggy height in January!

She glanced out the window at the snowy landscape and the ocean waves beyond, dimly illuminated by moonlight. Again, she wondered how long it would take the chambermaid to bring up her bathwater. When she'd first asked for the bath an hour before, she had been told in no uncertain terms that the Duchess (Mirjana presumed the chambermaid had meant the _late_ Duchess) was not in the habit of asking for bucketfuls of bathwater to be lugged upstairs of an evening. Mirjana was certain that could not have been the case. How else had the woman managed to stay clean? Or had the maid merely meant that her former mistress had preferred early baths? Mirjana reminded the recalcitrant young maid that in any case, _she_ was Duchess of Cassan now, and she would like a chance to freshen up before bedtime.

It should not take a full hour for bathwater to be heated and brought up, even from the kitchens below. Mirjana frowned, wondering if the maid had forgotten the request or had deliberately ignored it. She stood, walking towards the door to go check when she heard a quiet knock. A moment later, the door swung open, and Dhugal entered, meeting her gaze with a baffled look that, as he glanced around the chamber, swiftly turned to anger.

"My lady, have you been installed in these quarters since your arrival?"

The question startled Mirjana. "Yes, my lord. Should I not have been?"

"No, you should not. I had assumed you'd been given the chamber adjoining mine, but when I went there to check on you a few minutes ago, it was evident that no one has been using it recently. This is the room my brother-in-law normally uses when he is visiting….Sweet Jesú!" Dhugal's eyes landed on the large portrait on the opposite wall from the bed. A storm began to brew within them. "_That_ was moved in here on my instructions, but _you_ weren't meant to be moved in here with it. My most profound apologies, Mirjana. I'll have the staff move your belongings at once." He strode out, returning after a few minutes with two somewhat cowed looking Cassani men and a trembling chambermaid. It was obvious to the new Duchess that they had been treated to a blistering stream of rapid-fire invective in that too-fast-to-follow Borderer speech her husband occasionally tended to lapse into among his own people. She had heard him as soon as they'd entered the corridor, and had been glad she wasn't on the receiving end of such ire.

He resumed the Court accent she understood more easily as soon as he had returned to her side. "Bring Her Grace's belongings to the Seafoam Room immediately." He glanced at her, then modified the order. "No, on second thought, bring them to mine."

"To…to _yours_, Your Grace?"

"Yes. She is, after all, my _wife_." His thunderous expression brooked no argument.

"Ah…Yes, Your Grace!"

#

Dhugal watched Mirjana as she looked around his bedchamber, her eyes quickly taking note of the surroundings. One of his liveried men set down the last of her storage chests against the wall and bowed. He granted the retainer his leave to depart, watching as the man swiftly scurried off, closing the door behind him.

Mirjana sighed. He turned back to her, gathering her in his embrace. "I'm sorry. I should have noticed the mix-up sooner, but to be honest, I've been falling straight into an exhausted sleep every evening since I arrived, and it simply didn't occur to me to check earlier to make sure you'd been moved in next door. I just assumed you'd been placed in the Ducal Suite." He stepped back, taking her hand in his and leading her to a beautifully carved wooden door set into an arched doorway next to his bed. "_This_ is where I thought you'd be." He opened the door, revealing another cozy looking chamber beyond, and illuminated the dark room before them with a sudden glow of pale handfire.

The room was chilly—unsurprisingly, since no fire had burned in the hearth in recent days—but Mirjana curious gaze took in a beautiful bedchamber decorated in soft shades of pale green and ivory, the fabric of the bedcurtains and pillows decorated with a motif reminiscent of the sea. Various paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, and above the hearth was a painting of Dhugal in his Cassani court finery, looking every inch the Border Duke that he was. It was obviously a companion portrait to the one now hanging in the guest bedchamber, painted by the same artist in the same style.

Dhugal stood behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder. "You are welcome to share my chamber with me. I must admit, I quite enjoy waking up to a warm wife. But should you prefer more privacy, you're welcome to use this chamber as well." He paused, feeling a bit awkward showing off his late wife's private bower to his new Duchess. "Catriona sometimes opted to retreat here if one of us was scheduled to have an unusually late night or an early wake-up, or when she was feeling unwell, or when Duncan Michael was being fretful in his early months. She preferred tending to him herself rather than handing him over to the nursemaids when he was colicky." He looked around the room. "I had her more personal items removed before your arrival, but if you'd prefer to refurnish the room entirely…." His voice trailed off, his heart still reluctant to make the offer even though his mind understood that his new bride would probably wish to put her own personal stamp on the chamber.

"No, it's quite lovely," Mirjana assured him quietly. "I do not wish to impose."

Dhugal turned her to face him. "You're _not_ imposing. You are the Duchess of Cassan now. My home is yours. This chamber—if you want it—is yours now."

"Your Cassani people do not accept me as their Duchess yet, though."

"Then they shall have to learn." He kissed her brow. "I have no intention of shipping you back to Liam-Lajos."

Mirjana chuckled softly. "Laji would have no idea what to do with me, I'm afraid."

His eyes smiled down at her. "That's fine. I have an idea or two about what might be done with you." The smile traveled down to his lips, tugging them upwards at the corners as he gestured to his own bedchamber behind him. "Now that I finally have an evening to myself, might I demonstrate?" He raised a hopeful brow at her.

She laughed and followed him back into his chamber.

#

_January 19_

_ Ballymar Castle_

The young tiring maid assisting Mirjana dutifully adjusted the back lacing of her gown, but it was clear she would much rather be elsewhere. She had looked disapproving from the moment she'd arrived that morning, clearly annoyed to find the Duchess in the Duke's bedchamber instead of relegated to the exile of the guest wing. Well, that was fine, Mirjana mused; if the girl found her duties so onerous, she could soon find new ones. Surely not _every _young woman in Cassan of suitable age and abilities would be so reluctant to work in a Duchess's household, even if that Duchess were from despised Torenth! A decent wage was a decent wage, after all, and a tiring maid's duties were certainly not too difficult.

Perhaps she had good cause to fear her new mistress, though. Maybe her father had been killed in the war against Wencit, or perhaps a much older brother had fallen there. Mirjana decided to attempt a friendly overture.

"Thank you so much for your assistance, Agnes. I'm looking forward to venturing out this morning. Are you originally from here in Ballymar, or one of the surrounding villages? Maybe you could recommend someone who might give me a tour of the castle grounds?"

The girl frowned, feigning an inability to understand. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. I'm afraid I can't understand your words for your thick accent."

Mirjana sighed. She knew full well that her Torenthi accent was not _that_ pronounced. The lass hadn't shown any difficulties in understanding her requests up until now. The Duchess added Agnes to the growing mental list of household staff she would need to consult with her husband about replacing.

#

Mirjana had her breakfast in the small withdrawing room just off the Great Hall. Dhugal and the Dowager Duchess were already eating when she arrived, the latter looking up only briefly to give her a chilly smile.

"I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost," Dhugal teased as Mirjana took her seat beside him.

"No. I just seem to have some problem with making myself understood. My requests, at least. My maidservants seem to have no trouble understanding me if I'm simply making comments or giving them leave to depart. It must be my selective accent."

Her husband raised a coppery-bronze eyebrow at her. "Indeed? Are you certain it's not simply a bad case of selective hearing? There seems to be a lot of that going around of late. I hope the epidemic ends soon, or we might be seeing a rapid turnover in household staff in the near future." His voice grew subtly louder with each sentence, pitched so that the Cassani retainers standing just outside the entrance would be certain to hear it and, most likely, pass the word along.

"Oh, Dhugal, is that really necessary?" Duchess Margaret protested. "Some of the staff have been part of our household for years! You must admit, they have..._some_ reason to have reservations..." Her voice trailed off as she picked at her food, not meeting Mirjana's eyes.

"I quite agree, my lady. Reservations are one thing, however, and outright disrespect and insubordination are quite another. If I cannot manage my own household, what kind of message does that send to the rest of Cassan and to Kierney? No, I understand they might not be very happy with their Duke at the moment, nor with my choice of Duchess, but I'm not going to stand for disloyalty in my own household staff. If they can't bring themselves to obey my lady's orders, they can seek employment elsewhere. Dishonor done to her is dishonor done to me. I will not tolerate it."

"Oh, I know, I know..." Duchess Margaret looked flustered. "But you can at least give them a _little_ more time to come around, surely! Some of them...their families...have already lost so much..." She bit her lip, flushing.

"Believe me, my lady, I certainly have no wish to see anyone deprived of their livelihood," Mirjana assured her quietly, "but if they are truly so unhappy with their situation here that they cannot perform their regular duties, perhaps it would be the best for all concerned if they could find work they will be happier with? Would Your Grace happen to be in need of an extra maid or two, perchance; if not here, then perhaps in Kierney? I do not wish to be unreasonable, but when you ask your own maidservants to draw you a bath or to help you with your wardrobe, do _you_ not expect them to obey? If one does not wish to serve, one ought not to enter into another's service."

"But when they entered service…." The dowager duchess's voice trailed off, though the distress on her face only grew.

"Yes, we realize that when they first entered my service, there was a different Duchess of Cassan." Dhugal kept his voice as gentle as he could despite his growing frustration, mindful of his step-grandmother's own loss in the war against Wencit. "And if they don't wish to work for the present Duchess—or for that matter, the present Duke—there is the option of resigning from service. But for those who wish to retain their positions in my household, there is no excuse for shirking their assigned duties." Raising a hand to stifle another protest, he added, "My lady wife did not ask to be born in Torenth, nor was she given any choice in being born a kinswoman of Wencit, distant though the relationship was. She was a mere child, a couple of years short of her first decade, when Wencit and his officers perpetrated their wartime atrocities against the men of Cassan and Kierney. Do you honestly believe she was in any way complicit in those actions? Or that, even if she had been there, she could have stopped Wencit had she known what he planned? Has an eight-year-old girl such power?" He glanced at Mirjana, who sat silent, gazing down at the faintly trembling hands in her lap. "My lady is blameless in the matter of Llyndruth Meadows, Duchess Margaret. And not all Torenthi are monsters, any more than all Deryni are evil." He raised an eyebrow at Margaret's startled expression. "Aye, remember that the evilness of Wencit's actions was ascribed just as much to him being an 'evil Deryni sorceror' as it was to him being a ruthless Torenthi king. And yet I don't think you believe the lie that Deryni are inherently evil, knowing my father Duncan as you do, and having come to know me over the past few years as well. If one can be Deryni and yet be a good man, can one not also be Torenthi and be a good woman? Is there no possibility that there are good people of Torenth just as there are evil ones, and that all should not be blamed for the wicked actions of a few?" He took a sip of small ale, allowing the dowager duchess a moment to absorb what he'd just said. "Do not forget, the _Pax Kelsona_ we enjoy with the Kingdom of Torenth now was not forged unilaterally. King Liam-Lajos of Torenth is as much Kelson's ally now as Kelson is his. And Liam-Lajos is also a kinsman of Mirjana's. It would seem it is possible to be a Furstán and not be the enemy of Gwynedd. Or, mayhap, not even of Cassan."

Dowager Duchess Margaret sighed. "It all sounds so rational when you put it that way, Dhugal, but what you forget is that people think with the heart just as much as with the head. And no amount of logic or reason will ever erase the fact that this duchy suffered great losses in the war against Torenth, and not merely the kind of loss that one might expect from any major battle, but treachery of the gravest sort."

"I agree." Dhugal sat back, studying his grandfather's widow. "But that treachery came as much at the hands of an Earl of Gwynedd as from the King of Torenth, yet I suspect the people of Cassan and Kierney hold the present Earl of Marley far less culpable for his late father's actions than they are choosing to hold my lady wife for her distant kinsman's. At least I _hope_ they are not viewing Earl Brendan in the same light. He was even younger at the time, and equally as guiltless."

"Oh, well...that's a bit different, though!" the dowager duchess protested faintly.

"Is it? How so?"

"Well...young Brendan was mostly raised by the Duke of Corwyn, and no one could possibly fault _Alaric's_ loyalty! And besides that, the current Earl of Marley has proven his own loyalty to the Crown since then, when he saved King Kelson's life a few years ago." Her lips tightened. "From _another_ Torenthi attack."

"Aye," Dhugal said evenly. "One which was meant to kill the rightful King of Torenth as well as our own King. Surely no one believes the present King of Torenth was complicit in an attempt on his own life? As I said, my lady, the blame lies in the individuals committing such acts, not on their race as a whole. Being born in Torenth, or even in the Torenth royal family, no more commits one to a lifetime of evil actions than being born in Cassan commits one to a lifetime of good deeds. Or has criminal activity ceased to exist in the Duchy, and I've not been made aware of it?" Dhugal gave her a skeptical smile. "Murder, mayhem, and wartime atrocities happen even in the Borders. Believe me, madam, I know. I only have to think back on our recent war with Meara for the reminders. You cannot have forgotten what happened to my father not so far from our own Cassani borders, in the hands of people with no links outside this kingdom at all, or to the nuns of Saint Brigid's Abbey at the hands of men whose Border blood runs as deeply as my own. Torenth hardly holds the monopoly on evil, any more than we hold here any monopoly on virtue."

Margaret's eyes brimmed with tears. "But Dhugal, dear, you simply can't apply cold-hearted logic to every situation! You weren't _here_ when the Cassani survivors brought back your grandfather and a few of their fallen comrades back from Llyndruth Meadows. So very, very few, compared to the number of slain..." Her tears spilled over, falling onto pale cheeks. "Some of us can never forget that sight, can never forgive the waste...the treachery..." She shook her head. "It is easy for _you_ to say we must learn to forgive and forget, that some Torenthi people might be innocent, but you have never lost anyone dear to you to a Torenthi attack!"

Dhugal's eyes blazed with amber fire. "Have I not, my lady? Must I remind you that I lost my own wife to such an attack just this past summer? Do you believe I am indifferent to that?!"

"But Catriona...I'd heard she died of the fever-flux..." Margaret's eyes widened. "Was _that_ planned by Torenth as well?"

Dhugal bit back a blistering curse at his own lapse. He had not meant to fuel his step-grandmother's irrational hatred for Torenth by bringing up the source of the previous year's killer plague, but his temper had momentarily caused him to forget that what was well-known in Kelson's Inner Circle was hardly common knowledge elsewhere. He sighed. "It was _not_ planned by Torenth, madam. Though it was a magical attack, carried out by a man _formerly_ of Torenth but now exiled from that Kingdom and believed to be living in Byzantyun. He was also attempting the overthrow of Torenth, not merely Gwynedd." He gave her a wry smile. "So, purely by coincidence, you both share a common enemy in _that_, at least, for Teymuraz has no more reason to be fond of Torenth than you do. Teymuraz of Byzantyun seeks power, pure and simple. He cares not who he slays to get it, whether they be people of Gwynedd or even his own kindred."

"But...Surely you must see he was a product of his culture, though? A culture which is indifferent to the suffering of others..."

"And what was Archbishop Loris's excuse? Was he indifferent to suffering because of _his_ culture? His Gwyneddan upbringing?" He glanced at Mirjana, sitting silently beside him picking at her meal. "And what of my wife, who is innocent of all bloodshed? What of her four-year-old son? What does it say of our Cassani culture that we should treat them in such a way that shows our own indifference to _their_ suffering? My lady, it might be the easier course to blame all of Torenth for the suffering they have inflicted on yourself and on the people of Cassan, rather than choosing to lay that blame on those few foes who have truly earned it. But my lady wife has known her own share of suffering as well. She does not deserve our people's enmity."

The dowager duchess's mouth dropped open in indignation. "_Suffering_?! I beg your pardon, but what could your lady possibly know of suffering! She has merely endured a bit of snubbing from a few maidservants who have cause to distrust her, given our great losses at Llyndruth Meadows! Granted, they should not act so, but still, that is hardly great suffering, Dhugal! Not when you consider the fathers, husbands, brothers and sons our women have lost!"

Dhugal considered sitting on his own hands to prevent himself from lunging across the room to grab his step-grandmother by the throat. He took a deep steadying breath then glanced at his wife, whose lips had tightened with the question, turning almost white. "Perhaps you should ask _her_ that question, since she is sitting right here, though you seem to have forgotten her presence. Would you like for me to answer that question, my lady, or would you prefer to address it?"

Mirjana lifted her eyes to the woman across the small room from her. "I had a peaceful childhood, Your Grace. As a young girl, I had the sort of comfortable life you probably imagine I've always known. I wanted for nothing. In fact, as my father's cherished only daughter, I might have been a little spoiled. All that changed shortly after my fourteenth birthday. A former Duke among my people—this Teymuraz of whom my lord has just spoken—thought to please one of his minor lords by granting his wish to wed me, despite my father's objections and my own desire not to be wed to him. They killed my father and abducted me from my homeland. I was forced into a marriage with a man I loathed and raped repeatedly until I bore him a son. I bore him daughters also, but all were killed because they were mere girls and therefore despised. I lived in this hellish existence until Duke Alaric Morgan—may God in His mercy bless him and his heirs forever!—freed me from it and the King of Gwynedd granted my request for sanctuary. And now it is my very great honor to be married to your late husband's grandson."

She smiled at Dhugal then turned her attention back to the dowager duchess. "The acts that were committed against me are not condoned by my culture any more than they are accepted in yours. They were the actions of vicious criminals, though one was born a Duke and the other a Lord. High birth does not make a man's deeds noble any more than being of Torenth makes one evil, Your Grace. And now my former husband is dead, and his master exiled to a faraway kingdom precisely because Torenth, for all the sins you may wish to lay at its door, does not condone such atrocities either. At least the Torenth of Liam-Lajos—long may he reign—does not. I cannot speak for Wencit; as the Duke my husband reminded you, I was only eight when he died."

Duchess Margaret's mouth dropped open at Mirjana's quiet yet fervently uttered speech; slowly closed again in dismay. "Oh." She stared at the younger woman in shock.

Mirjana glanced at Dhugal. "I am no longer hungry, my lord husband. May I be excused?"

"Nor am I." The Duke stood, nodding shortly to his grandfather's widow. "Pray excuse us, Duchess Margaret." He offered his arm to his wife and escorted her from the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_ January 22, 1133_

_ The Duchess's Solar, Ballymar Castle_

Mirjana sat in the relative warmth of the winter sunshine streaming in through the window glass of her solar, battling a sudden desire for a nap as she sat stitching together a new shirt for her husband. Beside her sat Lord Deveril's two daughters, Lady Domenica and Lady Daireen. The seneschal's wife, Lady Bronea, was elsewhere at the moment, assisting the Dowager Duchess in packing her belongings in preparation for departing for her residence in Kierney.

It would be a stretch to say that the Cassani ladies-in-waiting had fully warmed up to Mirjana, but unlike her maidservants they at least weren't openly hostile, which was somewhat of an improvement.

Lady Domenica sat at a writing desk jotting down a few notes about staff changes. "So, it would seem we need to look into hiring a new tiring maid, two new chambermaids, and four manservants, but the rest of the staff have opted to remain, is that correct, Your Grace?" She looked up at Mirjana.

Mirjana nodded. "That is my understanding, yes."

"Well, it shouldn't take too long to fill seven positions. I'd feared it might be worse." Domenica shrugged philosophically as she wiped the nib of her pen and pounced the wet ink with fine sand from a caster. "Will you be looking to fill the openings with folk from Transha?"

Mirjana looked up from her stitching. "No, we hope to hire here in Cassan." She smiled wryly. "Surely there have to be at least seven people in the entire duchy who won't be unalterably opposed to serving in our household despite the misfortune of having to be answerable to a Torenthi duchess."

"You may have to hire young, Your Grace," Lady Daireen said, looking up from her mending. "My age or even younger, preferably. Newly-adult, if you don't mind having to be patient with them while they learn their duties. That would be best, I'd imagine," she said thoughtfully.

"Why so?" Mirjana asked.

Daireen risked a quick glance at the Duchess. "For one thing, the younger they are, the more biddable they're likely to be, and if they've little work experience, at least they've not developed bad habits that need breaking either. But more importantly, Your Grace, the younger folk are less likely to remember the war. If they lost family in it, chances are higher they'll be too young to remember them, so less likely to hold such losses against you." She frowned slightly as she turned her attention back to her work, a shadow crossing her features.

Mirjana noted the change in her expression, saw also the shuttered look that crossed the older sister's features as the younger one spoke. "Was your family directly affected?" she asked them, her voice soft.

After a moment, Domenica nodded. "Our brother Dé was slain by Wencit's forces, and our brother Deasun—our father's heir—taken captive. He was one of the lucky survivors. Lucky in that he's still alive and mostly whole, that is. He still has nightmares." She blinked back tears. " Dé was only sixteen when he died. Deasun was but twenty. He has never been able to forgive himself for not being able to protect Dé. They got separated during the fighting when the men of Marley attacked."

"I am truly sorry for your loss, and for the pain your family has suffered. Especially for your eldest brother's continuing suffering."

Lady Daireen stabbed at her fabric with her needle. "_You_ were not at Llyndruth Meadows, my lady. King Wencit, however, can roast on a meat spit in Hell for all I care, and Bran Coris with him as the apple in that swine's mouth!"

Mirjana looked up as the door opened. Ailidh entered, taking a seat next to her. "Sweet Jesú, the lads have run me ragged, and it's not even noon yet! Mhairi has a saint's patience." She reached down under the seat for the workbasket she had left there during an earlier visit, bringing up a mass of carded and dyed wool and a drop spindle. "Something's come up you need to know about, Your Grace." She spun the spindle like a long top, watching as it twisted the wool in her hand into thread. "Your Mikhail asked me a very unsettling question this morning." Her gray-green eyes looked grave as she glanced over at the Duchess.

"What did he say?"

Ailidh gave the spindle another turn. "He asked me why the only good Torenthi is a dead Torenthi. He said he'd overheard one of the men say so, but he didn't know which one. I took the liberty of trying to take a peek into his memories, but it seems he never got a look at the man who said it. He was on the other side of a wall, in the stables I think." Her nimble fingers fed a bit more wool into the twisting thread. "Mikhail has fairly decent shields for a little lad, though. They're developing nicely." She grinned. "He asked me what I was doing poking about in his head, so I had to ask him to drop his shields for me so I could see if I could figure out who the mean man was. Jass is looking into the matter now."

Mirjana covertly glanced at the seneschal's two daughters, wondering what they were making of this unusually open conversation between two Deryni in their presence, but if either was disturbed by it, they gave no sign. Ailidh, noticing her duchess's swift study of the two women, smiled. "They've grown up around Deryni, Your Grace." She grinned at Daireen. "I've not said anything yet that's made you want to shriek and run out of the room ululating at high pitch, have I?"

Daireen snorted. "No; the only thing in recent memory that you've told me that might provoke that extreme a reaction was your haggis recipe."

Domenica chuckled. "Haggis is quite nice, actually."

"Right. Take one sheep; toss all the good bits and turn the rest inside out. Add oats and barley. Throw a few herbs and spices at it. Cook. Wash it all down with a fifth of whisky. I think I'll pass." Daireen grinned.

"With as many hungry men as we've got around here, you don't toss the 'good bits', as you call them, or you'd have a riot on your hands. That's another night's dinner."

"That's the night I'll eat, then."

Mirjana smiled at the banter, pushing down a sudden wave of nausea. "Where are Mhairi and the children now?"

"Back in the nursery again," Ailidh assured her. "Jass said he'd let them know when they could have another outing, and he'll have a man or two posted to keep them safe."

"And Dhugal has been informed?"

"Oh, aye. And Lord Deveril." Ailidh gave the drop spindle another twirl. "And until Jass gets back, I'm to stick to you like an over-fond leech."

"That's picturesque," Domenica commented, grimacing.

#

Lord Deveril's daughters left a short time afterwards, both having duties to attend to. Ailidh studied Dhugal's new duchess as she finished hemming his new shirt. Mirjana suppressed a yawn, blinking sleepily in the early afternoon light.

Ailidh cast out with her senses, confirming what she suspected. "Congratulations, Your Grace. When is your baby due?"

Mirjana blushed, glancing shyly up at her. "September, I think."

The border lady grinned. "That was fast work. I imagine Dhugal's right pleased."

The duchess's blush grew deeper. She ducked her head, attempting to hide it. "I…have not told him yet."

Ailidh looked surprised. "And he hasn't suspected anything yet either? It's been, what, a month already, hasn't it? Surely he's noticed you've not had your courses again?"

The young bride bit her lip. "If he has, he has not said anything to me. And he still…." Her cheeks turned nearly crimson. "He has not turned me out of his bed yet."

The borderer looked nonplussed. "Why would he?" She laughed. "Dhugal's a duke, not a monk! If you thought he'd just get you with child and then stop tossing his breeks over the bedposts to swear off women for life, you're looking at the wrong McLain. _That _one's still back at St. Hilary's!" Ailidh looked briefly disconcerted. "You…weren't _hoping_ he'd lose interest, were you?"

"Oh, no, I hope he won't! That's why I didn't wish to tell him yet," Mirjana whispered, her mortification complete.

"Well, no worries there, I assure you! The man's a MacArdry as well as a McLain. We MacArdrys breed like ferrets."

"A fair bit less bloodshed than tha', _mo chuisle_, though just about as much screamin'," Sir Jass teased, making his appearance known from the doorway. He winked at the Duchess as his wife turned scarlet. "We've turned our man up and turned him out. He won't be back. You'll need to add a stable groom to your list of new hires, though."

#

Sir Jass escorted the Duchess downstairs to the withdrawing room off the Great Hall where the Duke and Cassan's seneschal were discussing some of the staff reassignments necessitated by the recent vacancies.

"All right, so Grainne and Seonaid will become senior chambermaids—I think they're both ready for that level of responsibility now—which means the two new hires can move into their present positions...Good afternoon, Your Grace!" Lord Deveril broke off his musing long enough to rise as Mirjana entered the room, sketching her a swift bow and waiting for her to take a seat beside the Duke before sitting again himself and continuing where he'd left off. "There's still the position of tiring maid to be considered, but it will need to be considered quite carefully, as that maid will have direct hands-on access to the Duchess, so she must be someone who can be trusted completely."

Jass frowned slightly. "If I might make a suggestion, my lords, Ailidh can serve as Her Grace's tiring maid for now, at least until a more permanent one can be carefully screened and hired. Chambermaids can do their work without having the Duchess directly present, after all, but a tiring maid can hardly help her dress from a distance."

Mirjana considered the idea, then shook her head. "Lady Ailidh is already overextended, I think, and I feel the children are much safer with her present. Not that Lady Mhairi doesn't do an excellent job of keeping them when Ailidh is away from the nursery, but Mhairi isn't Deryni, and I don't know the two junior nursemaids very well..." At least not well enough to entrust either with Mikhail's safety, she thought to herself. She considered the castle staff she'd met over the past few days. Not all had reacted negatively towards her, or at least if they had, she had seen no sign of it. One particular face came to mind. "What of the young woman who collects the laundry in the mornings?" Mirjana had taken notice of the girl shortly after her arrival in Cassan because she was one of the few strangers who had greeted her with a smile.

Lord Deveril looked surprised. "Do you mean Caoilainn, the laundress's daughter?"

"I don't know her name," Mirjana said apologetically. "She's a fair-haired girl with rosy cheeks and a pretty smile. That's why I took note of her. She's been unfailingly polite, and usually in a cheerful mood when I've seen her."

The seneschal looked thoughtful. "Well, I suppose she could be trained for the job easily enough. I don't think there'd be any cause to question her loyalty. She seems to be a quick enough learner, from what I've seen. And I'm certain her mother would be willing to spare her, under the circumstances." He chuckled slightly. "It would be quite a promotion, going from laundress's assistant to a duchess's tiring maid." Deveril glanced at Dhugal. "What do you think?"

Dhugal shrugged. "I've only got a vague impression of the girl, but if my lady thinks she would suit, we can always try her out."

"Maybe we could speak with her first, just to make sure she'll suit?" Mirjana suggested.

'We could do that." Deveril glanced at one of the guards standing at the withdrawing room entrance. "Could you send for Caoilainn, please?"

The man returned in a few minutes, the blonde maiden following close behind him. She dipped a low curtsey to the Duke and Duchess once she spotted them, her face a study in confusion. "Have I done summat wrong, Yer Graces?" she asked. Despite the question, she regarded them with an expression more curious than truly fearful.

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Dhugal assured her. "We are considering assigning you to other duties within our household, but we wanted a chance to speak to you first."

"Other duties, Yer Grace?" Her face lit up. "I'd no' mind tha' at all, especially if they be inside. Is't inside work?"

"It is," Mirjana said after mentally translating the girl's Border accent. It was quite pronounced, yet the new Duchess of Cassan realized she'd need to grow accustomed to the local accent sometime. Daily exposure to it should certainly help with that. "How long have you been assisting your mother with the laundry?"

Caoilainn shrugged. "Ever since I was big enough tae tote baskets o' washin' an' stand over kettles o' boilin' water, I suppose. Six for the laundry-totin', an' maybe eight for th' rest?"

"That's hard work for such a young child," Mirjana observed. "And how old are you now?"

"I've had fifteen summers, Yer Grace."

"And would you like a chance to move up in the household?" the duchess asked.

"Aye, Yer Grace, o' course I would!" the girl said, beaming. "Wha' sort o' work did ye have in mind for me?"

Mirjana glanced at Dhugal, then back at the lass. "I'm needing a new tiring maid. It's quite different work from what you're used to, although with your laundry experience at least you'll already know about fabric care."

Caoilainn looked startled. "A tirin' maid, Yer Grace? I'm willin' tae learn, o' course! But..." She glanced down at her hands. "My hands are a bit rough from laundry work for handlin' fine silks, an' I don' know nowt about arrangin' hair. But I can learn, if ye're sure ye want me for th' job."

"Well, fortunately it's winter, so you'll not have to worry about handling silks just yet. And as for my hair, that's easy enough to learn. I mainly wear it in a single braid anyway, unless I'm dressing for a formal Court, and you'll have lots of time to practice putting it up in more elaborate styles before we have one of those. So, you'd be willing to serve in that way?"

"Oh, aye, Yer Grace!" Caoilainn laughed. "I thought ye might be hirin' for one o' th' junior chambermaid positions, an' I'd hae been happy enough tae do tha', but this is even better work."

"The job will require some travel," Dhugal told her. "Do you have any family responsibilities that would make that difficult for you?"

"None, Yer Grace."

"And you seem to have no reservations about working closely with my lady," he observed.

"Should I?" Caoilainn asked. "Do ye mean because Her Grace is Torenthi?" She flashed a dimpled smile at the Duchess of Cassan. "I dinnae think she's likely tae sack Ballymar while we're all abed, if tha's wha' ye mean." The thought belatedly occurred that the Torenthi duchess might not find the thought as funny as she did, and she bit her lip in sudden worry that she might have caused offense.

Mirjana chuckled. "Ballymar and the rest of Cassan may sleep safely knowing I have no designs on it. I just want a household I can be at peace with."

Caoilainn looked relieved, then mildly startled. She tilted her head curiously at Dhugal. "Wha' was tha'?"

Dhugal looked equally startled. "What was what?" he asked.

"I felt a tickle in my head just now. Was that one o' you readin' my mind?"

It was Dhugal's turn to look curious. "I was Truth-Reading you as you spoke just a few moments ago. You shouldn't have felt anything, though. You're not Deryni, are you?" He did another quick mental brush, but detected no shields.

"Nay, I'm no'. Got a bit o' th' second sight, but tha's about it. An' ye just did it again."

Dhugal smiled. "Aye, I did, but I'll stop. I didn't read your thoughts, if that's concerning you. I just wanted to make sure you were being truthful about not minding my lady's Torenthi background. We've had some...recent problems to deal with."

She shrugged. "I dinnae mind, Yer Grace. I ain't got nothin' tae hide, it's just tha' it was such a queer feelin', an' I wondered what ye were doin'. I figured it might be summat o' th' sort, an' I was half expectin' it. I heard a few o' th' chambermaids got th' sack on account o' being rude tae Her Grace." She looked at Mirjana. "My grandsire was killed at Llyndruth Meadows, but I reckon tha' wasnae yer fault. My own pa was hanged for killin' a man in a brawl, an' I know for certain tha' wasnae mine. We cannae help wha' our kin hae done, Yer Grace, just what _we_ do."

Mirjana looked satisfied. "You'll start in the morning. Report to Lady Bronea after breakfast and she'll instruct you in your new duties."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_ January 25, 1133_

_ Ballymar Castle, Cassan_

Dhugal studied his wife's sleeping form in the early dawn light streaming through their bedchamber window. Something about it seemed vaguely different than it had been when she'd first surprised him by appearing in his study in Rhemuth just over a month earlier, clad in only a loose blanket. He wasn't entirely certain, but he thought she might be with child. Though surely she would have said something to him once she knew… _If_ she knew...

She shivered in the cool air, and he pulled the blankets back over her, rising briefly to add some more wood to the fireplace. Surely she would recognize the signs of early pregnancy by now, he thought. She'd conceived four times during her marriage to Nikos, after all, even if he'd only allowed two of the pregnancies to continue to full term. He must be imagining the changes he'd thought he'd seen. Wishful thinking could play tricks on a man's mind, he supposed.

He returned to her side, sliding under the blankets to pull her close. She turned to nestle into him, lending him welcome warmth to dispel the chill of the room's air.

He slipped a hand down to rest lightly low on her abdomen and cast out with his senses. No...wait!...there _was _another presence! A tiny form moving deep within Mirjana. A tiny Deryni life, connected yet separate. And, if Dhugal was not mistaken, male.

A sense of awed wonder suffused Dhugal. Another son! Why hadn't Mirjana told him? Had it been a daughter, he would assume she was afraid, that her memories of Nikos were still too fresh in her mind for her to believe his assurances that he would be delighted by a girl child as well as by a boy. But if this were truly the son he believed the child to be, that only deepened the mystery.

Mirjana began to stir. Dhugal moved his hand away from his growing son, sliding it around to pull his wife closer to him instead, awakening her with a tender kiss.

Her eyes fluttered open and a smile dawned. "Hello, my...husband." She gave a self-conscious laugh.

"You started to say it again, didn't you?" Dhugal teased, amber eyes gleaming.

She blushed. "I'm getting better. I only called you 'my lord' once last night."

He grinned, raising an eyebrow at her. "Oh, was that a form of address? I thought it was just an exclamation." He chuckled as her blush deepened, moving a lock of hair aside to nuzzle at her neck. "Let's see if I can make you slip up again, mother of my child."

She stiffened in his arms slightly. He pulled back, studying the expressions flitting across her face. Her eyes darkened with the old anxiety he thought he'd long since managed to dispel.

The black lashes dropped, shuttering her feelings behind a mask. Dhugal suppressed a sigh.

"What is it, _chuisle_? Surely you don't think I don't want this baby?"

She shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I bear a son. I know you were hoping for one."

"Aye." He stroked her hair, wishing he knew what was going on inside her mind, but it was too tightly closed off for him to read anything using his Deryni senses. His eyes told him that she was still anxious though, even though she had managed to summon up a smile. "Then if it's not that, were you just wanting to wait a bit longer before you told me? I know we're still not past the danger months; we've not been married long enough for that. Are you worried that you'll miscarry?"

She shrugged, the facade crumbling just enough for him to realize she was on the verge of barely contained tears. Dhugal struggled to understand what could be causing the reaction. Another thought occurred to him.

"Sweeting, were your other labors difficult? Is it childbed you're afraid of?" If so, he could hardly hope to convince her that her fears were groundless. Many a woman died in childbirth. Dhugal pushed down a qualm of his own at the thought. He would, of course, find her the very best of midwives and would be there at her side himself to ease the pain of her labor, should she want him there.

She shook her head, burying her face in his chest with a stifled sob.

Dhugal was utterly baffled. "What is it then, _a chuisle_?"

She looked up then, blinking back tears, looking equally confused. "What is this word, a_kwishla_? What does it mean?

He gave her a startled look, then laughed, brushing a tear away from her cheek with a kiss. "It means 'pulse,'" he explained. "As in '_A chuisle mo chridhe'_...'O pulse of my heart.'" Dhugal gave her a self-conscious smile. "We tend to be a rather poetic lot here in the Borders."

"'O pulse of my heart.'" Mirjana considered the phrase. "It is quite lovely." She bit her lip, not meeting his eyes.

"And so are you, _a_ _chuisle_."

Her tears began to fall then, slipping down her cheeks like a gentle rain. "But I shall grow soon, and you won't desire me anymore."

"I...What?" Dhugal felt, if anything, even more lost. "Is _that_ why you didn't want to tell me? You thought I'd not want you anymore?"

"If I already bear your son, you can't give me another until I've recovered from bearing this one!" The tears fell faster.

"Well...yes...that's certainly true..." Realization dawned. "Mirjana..." He fumbled for words. "I don't simply desire you for the children you can give me."

"I know you need heirs...that's why you married me..."

He stopped the flow of words in the best way he knew how, with a kiss, coaxing her without words into believing him. Her body eventually relaxed against his with a long, shuddery sigh.

Sweet Jesú, how hadn't he seen this? Theirs hadn't even been a standard courtship, much less a love match from the outset; no wonder she thought he'd gladly set her aside now that she'd done her duty by his House! He had thought she would have figured out by now that, no matter how their marriage had started out, he was just as eager for her now as he had ever been for a second heir. Perhaps, truth be told, even more so, for as much as he wanted this child, the possibility of losing a second wife in childbirth sent a sudden flood of ice water through his veins.

She needed the words, he suddenly realized. And he had never actually said them.

"It's not just another son I want, but you as well." And even as he said the words, he knew they would help to ease the wounds he had inadvertently caused, but they were not the ones she truly longed to hear. But he wasn't ready to say _those_ words. Not just yet.

He also had wounds that were still healing.

But he could show her again how he felt, at least. He hoped that would be enough for now.

#

_ January 28_

_ Ballymar Castle_

"No, no, Duncan Michael, you swing it _this _way!" Mikhail patiently showed the younger boy how to hold the toy sword properly, then guided the toddler's hand through the swing until the edge of the wooden sword blade hit the target area on the pell. "Now _you _try without me."

This time Duncan Michael's swing had more control. The blade made contact with the pell in the desired area. Mikhail jumped up and down in glee. "See? I told you that you could do it! You cut it that time, you didn't just smack it."

Dhugal's son looked confused. "I din't cut it."

"Well, if you had a real sword, you would have. You did it right that time." Mikhail patted Duncan Michael's back. "Can I do it now?"

The younger boy handed him the toy sword, settling down onto the nursery floor to watch. Mikhail took several practice swings and thrusts at the pell. Sir Jass hid a smile. The older boy was far from expert himself, but he had the general idea. He glanced at the other children in the castle nursery. Ciaran was prancing about with his little sister Aine Rose seated on his back, whinnying loudly while she giggled. Jarrett and Trina sat together on a blanket, contentedly teething on separate ends of a hobby horse. Lady Mhairi caught his eye with a sigh and a wry smile, kneeling to finger a wad of wet woolen thread out of Jarrett's mouth. He had evidently started feasting on the horse's mane.

"He'll eat most anything, that one," Lady Mhairi joked. "I caught him trying to eat my bed last night."

Jass laughed. "Jarrett tried tae eat yer bed?!" He grinned down at his youngest son.

"Oh, aye." She pointed at the bed frame behind her. "Those are his teeth marks on the lower leg."

The knight shook his head, bending to lift the infant high. The baby crowed with laughter as his father held him aloft. "Son, there's better uses for a pretty lady's bed than tha'! Here, let's hae a look a' those new teeth." He used a fingertip to gently pry Jarrett's mouth open, peering at the pearly white baby teeth his son had recently acquired. "Aye, two atop an' two below." He glanced at Mhairi. "He'll be gnawing down trees an' buildin' dams next."

"I don't doubt it."

Jass set his son back down on the blanket. "Well, I'm here tae take two o' these wild beasties off yer hands. The Duke needs a word wi' his lads, if they're done hackin' th' enemy intae wee bits." He glanced down at Duncan Michael and Mikhail. "Are ye up for a visit tae yer Da, laddies?" A chorus of assent greeted his words. He grinned. "We're off then, Mhairi." He glanced around the nursery. "No junior nursemaids on duty this morning?"

She shrugged. "They'll be up in a bit. I sent them off to fetch a noonday meal for the children." Ciaran looked up hopefully at that with an even louder whinny, making her giggle. "And there's another son of yours who will eat most anything, Sir Jass."

"I'll send tae the stables for some hay," he said, winking at his firstborn, who laughed. "And once Ailidh comes by tae take over, ye need tae get out an' about a bit, m'lady. Get some fresh air, take a walk, go charm some lovelorn lad who'll wed ye an' give ye bairns o' yer own."

Lady Mhairi chuckled. "No, I think I'll pass. After a full morning of tending wee MacArdrys and McLains, retiring to a convent sounds a _lot _more inviting just now!"

#

"How is Lady Mhairi?"

"Considering holy vows."

Dhugal looked up sharply, then grinned at the twinkle in his retainer's eyes. "Rough morning?"

Jass shrugged. "She didn't say, though it seems my youngest is destined to turn into either a beaver or a termite." He looked down at the giggling lads beside him. "Do either of you lads eat beds?"

"No!" they chorused, chortling.

"Good. There's hope." Jass glanced at Mirjana, sitting quietly beside her husband, and offered her a quick smile. "Shall I leave you two with this stalwart pair of swordsmen, then?"

"Aye. We'll take our chances," Dhugal answered.

The Transha man bowed and left, closing the solar door behind him.

"Have a seat, boys," Mirjana said, smiling down at them. The two plopped down obediently onto the short bench across from hers, looking up at her and Dhugal curiously. Duncan Michael's feet, barely touching the floor even though he was perched on the edge of the child-sized bench, kicked idly. Mikhail, glancing at the Duke his new step-papa, sat up straighter, showing that _he_ could sit still even if little Duncan Michael couldn't yet.

Dhugal hid a smile, turning it into a light cough instead. "Your mother and I have some news to share with you lads."

"Is it 'bout dinner?" Duncan Michael asked hopefully.

Mirjana gave a startled laugh. "No, but if you two haven't eaten yet, I can have that brought up presently. _Have_ you?"

"Not yet, Mama," Mikhail supplied. "Nurse Baillie and Nurse Maeve were sent down to fetch it fifteen-eleven minutes ago, but Sir Jass came to fetch us first." He glanced at Dhugal. "Is it about a pony?" he guessed.

Dhugal shook his head, chuckling. "I'm afraid not." He took Mirjana's hand, lightly kissing it before turning back to the boys. "Though it _will _be another type of new addition to our household, much tinier than a pony. Sometime in the autumn, probably not very long before Duncan Michael's next birthday, you will be getting a new baby brother."

The boys looked at each other. "Will he be littler than Jarrett?" Mikhail finally asked.

"Oh, _much_ smaller," Mirjana told him.

"Oh. Well, that's not much fun." Her firstborn looked disappointed.

Dhugal smiled. "I suppose you're right; he won't be able to play with you much at first. But he'll grow and become more fun later."

Duncan Michael's brow furrowed in confusion. "Will you have another new mama?"

The two parents looked at each other with equal bafflement. "What do you mean, son?" Dhugal finally asked him.

"_You _know, Da! You got married to a new mama and bringed home a brother." He pointed to Mikhail. "How are we going to get the other one?"

Mirjana stifled a giggle. "No, sweeting. I'll be the new baby's mama too." _Sweet Jesú, does the child think you'll bring home a new wife for every new baby?_ she Mind-Spoke to Dhugal.

_I wonder how well a Ducal harem would go over here in Cassan?_ Dhugal teased back.

"Will this baby go away like Gia did?"

Mirjana looked stricken. "You...remember your sister?" she finally managed, tears filling her eyes.

"No, son," Dhugal answered quietly, taking Mirjana in his arms. Her child watched in bewilderment as she burst into sobs. "He will always be ours, just like you and Duncan Michael will always be."

Mikhail frowned thoughtfully. "Even if we're bad?" Big brown eyes studied his stepfather gravely.

"Even so. Why do you ask?" Dhugal sensed from the boy's intent expression that more than simple curiosity lay behind the question.

Mikhail glanced uncertainly at his weeping mother. "My papa told me I must always be a good boy, because bad children get sold to the gypsies. Like Gia." His eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Mama; I didn't mean to make you cry. Was Gia a bad baby?"

Mirjana shook her head. "No." Her voice was muffled by Dhugal's shoulder. "Your sister was good. She was far too little to be bad. Your papa just..." She could think of no explanation to offer Nikos's young son.

Mikhail jumped up from the bench, running over to hug his mother. "Mama, please don't cry! I'll be good. I'll be good enough for _both_ of us; maybe that way the gypsies will bring Gia back for you even if she was just bad by mistake!"

She pulled away from Dhugal, bending to scoop her son into her arms, burying her face in his hair, still sweet-smelling from his bath of the night before. He was still her baby, this little man-child wanting to act so grown up. So innocent still in most ways, and yet not completely unscathed, touched by certain ugly aspects of life no child should ever have to know.

#

One of the kitchen lads brought up the midday meal, supervised by Lord Daivi, the seneschal's youngest son. He checked the food thoroughly, sampling small portions of it before pronouncing it fit to be served to the Ducal family.

Dhugal looked startled. "Do we not have another taster, Daivi?" he whispered once Lord Deveril's son was in earshot.

"Aye, we have, but he isn't so well known in these parts." The man gave his Duke a grim smile. "So Father has let word get out that all food brought up from the ducal kitchens will be tasted by the seneschal's own household from now on. He's hoping that might prove a deterrent for anyone with…certain ideas." The man glanced at the two young boys, enjoying their meal oblivious to the grown-ups' conversation nearby. "The other man still watches the food preparation and does the first tastings down in the kitchens, so the food is getting checked twice over."

Dhugal sighed. On the one hand, he could understand Deveril's reasoning. The seneschal had been a loyal steward of Cassan for several generations, taking on his role as a much younger man when Andrew had still been Duke, and continuing on in Jared's household, Duncan's, and now serving in his as well. Deveril had the near-universal respect and affection of everyone in the Duchy, and that extended to his family as well.

On the other hand, though, what if that were not enough of a deterrent? Dhugal could hardly imagine having to approach Lord Deveril some evening with an apology. What in the world would he say to the man if the worst were to happen? "I'm sorry about your son, my lord; it appears the stew meant for me was tainted"? His lips tightened. "Is there not some other way, Daivi?"

The man gave a rueful chuckle. "If you think of one, Your Grace, I'd be glad to hear it."

#

"I'm sleepy, Mama Miri." Duncan Michael curled up beside Mirjana and snuggled into her side, dark bronze lashes drooping over his clear green eyes.

She stifled a yawn, draping an arm around Dhugal's heir. "Are you, dear one? So am I." She gave her husband a slight smile. "I think it's nap time for both of us. Shall I bring the boys back up to the nursery?"

Mikhail looked disappointed. "Oh, must I, Mama? I'm not the least bit sleepy!" He stifled a yawn of his own. "At least not _very_ much."

Dhugal chuckled. "You need a nap also, lad. But if you'd rather stay up a bit longer, I suppose I could let you visit the stables with me before you have to go back upstairs."

Mikhail's dark brown eyes begged permission from his mother, who laughed. "Go on, then. Just remember to be very well behaved around the horses. No jumping around, no yelling…"

"I know, Mama!" He fidgeted beside the doorway, impatient to be off. "And don't go under them or behind them. I'll be good, I promise!"

"I'll keep a close eye on him," Dhugal assured the boy's mother before looking down at Mikhail with a faint grin. "Come along, son." He led the way out, Mikhail eagerly following along at his heels. "I don't suppose you've been let out of the nursery long enough to see the new pony yet, have you?"

He glanced at the boy, his grin growing as Mikhail's eyes grew huge.

"I have a new pony?!"

Dhugal laughed. "Well, no, not just yet, but someday you'll have your own. This one is very gentle, though. I think she'll suit for both you and Duncan Michael to practice riding on until you're ready for one of your very own."

"Duncan Michael is still too little to have his own pony."

"Yes, he is. He's over a full year younger than you. But that means you'll be able to help him learn."

Mikhail nodded. "He's good at learning stuff," the boy agreed. "He's pretty smart for such a little tyke."

Dhugal nodded, barely managing to hold back a laugh at the objective appraisal coming from the more worldly four-year-old.

"Do you have a lot of ponies?" the child asked.

"I have a fair number. Ponies handle the mountain trails better than horses do here in the Border country. They're sturdier and have surer footing in this terrain."

Mikhail nodded. "I'm going to have fifty-a-hundred ponies when I grow up."

"'Fifty-a-hundred', hm? That sounds like an awfully big number. Remember, ponies are pretty costly, especially in those numbers, and you'd have to shelter and feed them as well. Are you sure you'll need that many?"

"I will once I'm a Duke!" Mikhail smiled sunnily up at his step-father.

Dhugal slowed his footsteps. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have within earshot of the Cassani stablemen, so it was best gotten out of the way quickly. "I understand your Papa had hopes of making you a Duke someday, but do you understand how Dukes are made, Mikhail?"

The boy shook his head.

"Well, the most usual way is if one is born into it. The oldest living son of a Duke will become a Duke as well once his father dies. Or if his father gives up the title to pass it down to him, though that happens only rarely," he said, thinking of his own father and his special circumstances. "But one has to be born into a Ducal family for that to happen. That's how Duncan Michael will become Duke of Cassan someday, once I am dead."

The brown eyes regarded him solemnly. "But I don't want you to die!"

Dhugal gave him a reassuring smile. "Oh, I'm hoping I shan't have to for many years yet. But we all must do so sometime, so hopefully when that time comes, Duncan Michael will have lots of practice in managing my lands already. But it's an awfully big job for one man, and he'll need a lot of help, especially from his loyal brothers. You _will_ be a loyal brother, I hope?"

Mikhail nodded earnestly.

"Good. Now, unfortunately I only have one Duchy to pass on, and I'm only allowed to pass it on to my eldest son of my own bloodline. Which means, of course, that even though your baby brother will also be half-Cassani, he won't be a Duke either." Dhugal paused, gathering his thoughts in preparation for broaching the more sensitive topic of Nikos's aspirations. "Mikhail, I know your Papa had hopes of giving you the very best life he could—all Papas hope for that, I would imagine—but do you happen to remember what your Papa's title was?"

Mikhail nodded proudly. "He was Lord Nikos von Brustarkia!"

Dhugal nodded. "That's right. And as it happens, Brustarkia is a duchy in Torenth, but your father was never the Duke of Brustarkia. He served Teymuraz, who _used_ to be the Duke of Brustarkia, but he isn't a Duke of anywhere in Torenth anymore. And in any case, even if Teymuraz were still the Duke of Brustarkia, your father couldn't give you that duchy because it wasn't his to give."

Mikhail wrinkled his nose. "I remember Duke Teymuraz. He's cross a lot and has stinky breath. I don't like him much," he confided.

"That's all right;_ I_ don't like him at all," Dhugal sympathized. "It would be difficult to find anyone in Gwynedd who does, actually." He regarded the little boy quietly for a moment. "Did your father ever happen to mention how he'd hoped to acquire a duchy to give you?"

The child nodded. "Duke Teymuraz was going to give him Arjenol. Or maybe Corwyn."

"I see." Dhugal stopped, crouching down to look Mikhail in the eye. "But you understand, son, those lands aren't Teymuraz's to give either. Arjenol belongs to your cousin Duke Matyas now. He has a little boy of his own to pass it down to. And Corwyn belongs to my cousin Duke Alaric Morgan, who has a son named Kelric who will be Duke there someday. So Teymuraz had no right to promise either duchy to your father. Only a King can give lands to someone who wasn't born to them."

Mikhail remembered something else. "Duke Teymuraz wants to be King of Gwynedd."

Dhugal nodded. "Aye, and of Torenth too, I'll warrant. But again, those Kingdoms aren't rightfully his either. Gwynedd belongs to King Kelson, who has a son just a little younger than Duncan Michael who will be King Javan someday. And your cousin Liam-Lajos is King of Torenth. He doesn't have a son yet, but even if he never does, I'm certain he won't want to give Torenth to Teymuraz. He doesn't like Teymuraz either." That, Dhugal surmised, had to be the understatement of the century. "If King Liam-Lajos were to die without sons, then Torenth would go to his brother Prince Ronal-Rurik and _his_ sons."

Mikhail's eyes filled with tears. He blinked them away hastily. "Then what am_ I_ going to be Duke of?"

Dhugal's heart went out to the little boy. "I'm afraid that's not a very realistic thing for you to hope for, Mikhail. But there are other options for you. Most sons of noblemen—even of Dukes—end up as knights. A few of them decide to become priests instead, and some of those end up as bishops someday. And there are others who become scholars and administrators, because Kings and landed nobles are always in need of learned men to advise them and to help them run their households. If a knight has no lands of his own, he becomes what is called a 'knight errant,' in the service of the King or perhaps in a Duke's service. Sometimes a knight errant can be so good at their job that their liegelord will grant them manorial lands, and they will become a landed knight." Dhugal looked around as if to make sure no one could overhear him, then whispered. "Truth be told, being a Duke can be a bit of a headache. Sir Jass is a landed knight. He'll tell you that's _much_ simpler!"

Mikhail pondered this. "Is it really hard to learn how to be a Duke?"

The Duke of Cassan gave a dry chuckle. "I've made a right muck-up of it at times." He smiled down at the boy as he began walking towards the stables again. "It's much like being a Lord or a Baron or an Earl, just on an even bigger scale."

The boy nodded. "Duncan Michael will have a lot to learn to be a Duke someday, won't he?"

"Yes, I'm afraid he will." Dhugal tousled the lad's hair. "Can I count on you to help him with that?"

Mikhail bit his lip. "He needs to learn how to ride a pony first, though, doesn't he?"

Dhugal chuckled. "Yes. That would definitely help. By the way, the new pony's name is Blossom." He opened the stable yard gate.

"Blossom?" The boy looked indignant. "What kind of name is _that_ for a proper mount?"

The Duke laughed. "A perfectly fine name for a first pony! She's not a destrier, son. You can name your own warhorse when you're older."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

_January 30, 1133_

_ Ballymar Castle_

"Yer Grace, I dinnae think ye ought tae go out today. It ain't safe!" Caoilainn finished plaiting her mistress's hair and binding the end with a short length of ribbon. "I keep seein' ye in my head, fallin' back against a stone wall wi' yer gown all bloody." The tiring maid blinked back tears. "Ye've got tae believe me, m'lady!"

Mirjana frowned. "Are you quite certain it wasn't simply a bad dream?"

Caoilainn shook her head. "Nay, Yer Grace. I mean, aye, it _was_ a dream, but it ain't _just_ a dream, if ye take my meanin'. I've th' Sight, an'...well, it's hard tae explain th' difference between a regular dream an' a true vision, but there _is _a difference."

"But you said yourself you don't know when this might happen, or even where, right?" Mirjana sighed. "I can't simply stay locked up in my room on the chance that something might happen at some indefinite time." The Duchess shook her head. "I've no reason to leave the Castle grounds today, though, so you needn't worry about that. You said you thought this vision happens outdoors, yes?"

The girl nodded worriedly. "Aye, Yer Grace. Ye were in part sunlight an' part shade, against a wall."

"Well, then, I'll avoid the gardens for the next few days." Mirjana gave her tiring maid a reassuring smile.

#

"That's not good." Sir Jass frowned as Mirjana told him of her tiring maid's vision. "I don't know how accurate young Caoilainn's visions are, but I _do_ know that the second sight is real, and some of us Border folk are more skilled at it than others." He sighed. "All right, we'll step up precautions. Did she give any other details about her vision? For instance, did she know what sort of attack it might have been, or did she see anyone else in the vision, or any sort of weapon? "

"I don't think she did; at least she didn't mention any of those things."

Jass sighed. "I was afraid of that. Without that sort of information, though, the vision isn't very helpful. For instance, the blood on your gown might not even be yours. It could even be something else, like a wine stain, though that's less likely. At any rate, if she has any more visions of the sort, have her notify me without delay. Even if it's in the middle of the night."

"You're taking this very seriously, then?"

The Border lord nodded. "Aye, Your Grace. I don't have the Sight myself, but my grandmam had it, and her visions nearly always came true. And when they didn't, it was because she saw enough to say how we could change the circumstances in the vision ahead of time, so we were sometimes able to prevent things that way." He sighed. "Stay inside the Castle as much as you can, and if you must venture out, bring an armed escort with you. If she saw enough of your gown to know which one you were wearing, stop wearing that one, or at least wear different accessories with it. Any detail of the vision that we can change might prevent the entire event, or at least alter the outcome."

"For better or for worse, though?"

Jass gave her a frustrated grimace. "With this sort of thing, I'm afraid one can never know for sure."

#

_February 1_

_ Ballymar Castle_

Séamidh studied the cardounet board carefully before moving one of his pieces. He flashed a triumphant grin at Caoilainn. "Ha!"

The Duchess's tiring maid smiled back at the Duke's squire as she countered his move. "An' 'Ha!' back tae ye!" She giggled at the look on his face.

"Are you _sure_ you've not played this game before?" he grumbled good-naturedly as he tried to figure out what to do next. "You're not having some sort of visions about what I'm going to do next, are you?"

Caoilainn laughed. "Nay, it doesnae work tha' way. That'd be right handy if it did!" She sobered as a more serious thought crossed her mind. "I had another o' my visions last night."

"Aye?" Séamidh's hand stilled on his game piece. "Ye told Sir Jass, I hope? Or His Grace?"

"O' course I did!" The girl frowned. "Or I tried, but it wasnae easy tae explain wha' I saw. His Grace finally had tae just see it for himself." She looked curiously at the squire. "Does it tickle yer mind when he's peekin' in at it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, really. He's only had to do so once that I know of, when I first entered his service. He said he needed to do some sort of shield thing in my mind that would help protect me and him both. But I didn't feel anything odd about it." He looked thoughtful. "Then again, I don't really remember much about that night, except that I went straight to sleep afterward and woke up the next morning feeling really rested." He glanced down at the game board again, finally moving a piece. "What was it you saw in this new vision?"

The golden-haired girl sighed. "Well...as I said, it's hard tae say. There was a lot o' folks rushin' about, mainly. No' th' whole Castle, but mainly th' Ducal household. His Grace an' Sir Jass an' Lady Ailidh rushin' about tryin' tae get th' bairns tae safety, or I _think_ tha's what they were about, at any rate. I saw 'em herdin' th' lot o' them intae a chamber, an' th' door closed. Then His Grace come out again, an' no one else was with him, an' I dinnae see anyone inside th' chamber anymore."

Séamidh nodded slowly. "Do you know which room they went into?"

Caoilainn shrugged, nudging one of her game pieces to a different space. "Hard tae say. I think it were one o' th' cellar doors, but they're all much th' same. I think it might be tha' small chamber off th' south end o' the corridor leading tae th' undercroft, though. There weren't any windows in th' room, at least in the glimpse I saw." She shook her head. "It all happened sae fast."

"If it's the room I think you mean, that makes sense." The squire glanced around to see if anyone was nearby, then lowered his voice. "The Duke put in some sort of—I don't know what it's called, but it's kind of like a magical gateway, only it's not one you can actually see, and only Deryni can use them. You remember when those workmen were here a few months ago doing repairs in the undercroft? Well, not all of them were just regular stone-cutters and masons, and repair work's not all they were doing down there."

"A magic gateway?" Caoilainn's blue eyes widened. "Tae where?"

Séamidh glanced around again, pitching his voice even lower. "To Rhemuth. Maybe other places as well; I don't really know how it works. Last November, when they got done building it, His Grace went to Rhemuth and back in less than a day, though. That's when he and the Duchess got betrothed."

The maid looked skeptical. "Yer havin' me on! If th' Duke can get tae Rhemuth an' back tha' fast, why'd he take a week tae ride back here after Twelfth Night?"

"Because he had all his retinue with him, and _we're_ not Deryni, that's why! He couldn't very well carry _all _of us through it, baggage and horses and all!" Séamidh grinned at the thought. "And anyway, I think it tires them out, or would do if they kept going back through it all the time. But remember when Her Grace came to Cassan with Sir Jass, Lady Ailidh and the children? Do you remember seeing them ride into Ballymar?"

Caoilainn thought back, then shook her head slowly. "Come tae think o' it, I dinnae." She gazed at the squire in awe. "Did ye figure it out by yerself or did th' Duke tell ye all tha'?"

He blushed slightly, basking in the pretty girl's open admiration. "A bit of both, really. I found the room by accident, trying to catch up to His Grace to tell him something that morning when he left. I saw him go in through that door, but when I went to follow him into the new 'storage chamber', he wasn't there, even though there didn't look like there was any other way out except for the door we'd both gone in. So I kept checking back throughout the day, and when he came back through later that night, I happened to be there. Gave us both a start, that did!" He laughed. "He nearly thrashed me just out of pure reflex, but once he realized who I was and why I was there, he told me what the room was for." Séamidh grinned. "It's not just for storing brooms and buckets." He glanced briefly down at the cardounet board, the grin growing wider. "And now, my bonnie flower, I'm going to take you."

Caoilainn's mouth dropped open in bewildered indignation. "I beg yer pardon?!"

The squire roared with laughter as he made his move. "Your _game piece_, Caoilainn! Not that I don't like your idea better, but I'm supposed to be aspiring towards a white belt." He winked at the gaping girl.

"My...? Oh!" Caoilainn turned scarlet as her eyes dropped to the board between them.

"Forgot about the game, didn't you?" Séamidh's eyes danced with mirth. "I win this round, I think."

"Barely!" the maid muttered, studying the final configuration of the remaining game pieces.

"Beginner's luck," Séamidh assured her. "I'll trounce you even more soundly next time."

"Ye can try!" The tiring maid flashed a dimpled smile at the squire.

"I like a challenge." The lad smiled back at her as he began setting up the board again.

#

_February 6_

_ Ballymar Castle_

"Any new complications, Lord Deveril?" The Duke of Cassan sat back in his chair, steepling his fingertips.

"No, Your Grace; things have actually been fairly quiet this week. How that the household has been sorted out, I believe things are beginning to settle a bit. There's still a bit of unrest in the town, though I'm told that's starting to die down, and as for the rest of the Duchy..." The seneschal shrugged. "They may never be fully happy about Her Grace, I'm afraid, but perhaps they're a bit more...reconciled to the idea."

Dhugal nodded. "They shall have to be. She's not going away."

"No, Your Grace. But _you_ shall have to from time to time, and unless she goes with you, that is likely to present certain...difficulties."

The Duke sighed. "Aye, I'm aware of that. I intend to continue leaving you in charge during my absences, at least for the near future. Later, assuming the people come to accept that my wife has no desire to stage a coup in my absence, I'll begin easing her into more of those responsibilities." He gave Deveril a wry smile. "As much as I'd like to think you'll live forever, I know you probably have hopes of retiring as my seneschal at some point before you're old to enjoy a bit of rest and relaxation."

The older man snorted. "I hardly know what those _are_, and certainly wouldn't know what to do with them!" He sighed. "But it _is_ a job better suited for a younger man, and I've begun easing Deasun into some of the duties that will be fully his once I'm gone. And that, quite frankly, has been another cause for concern for me."

"Are you worried he won't be capable of doing the job as well as you'd hoped?"

Deveril shook his head. "Oh, it's not that. Deasun's coming along fine in that regard." His steady gaze met the young Duke's. "His war nightmares have gotten worse in the past month since your return from Rhemuth, Your Grace."

"I see." Dhugal stared into the roaring fire in the hearth for a long moment, considering options. "Do you think he might do better if I reassign him to Kierney for a while?"

"No, my lord, that would be a short term solution at best. If he is going to be seneschal of Cassan once I'm dead or incapable of continuing on any longer, he needs to learn how to deal with having a Torenthi Duchess."

"I prefer to think of her as my Duchess of Cassan who merely happens to have been born in Torenth," Dhugal said with a rueful smile, "though I concede the point. Still, I hope you can see mine. She is married to me now, which makes her the lady of my house, and the House of MacArdry McLain is, at least in part, Cassani. Maybe Deasun can learn to view her in that light. He certainly never had any trouble accepting Catriona as Cassani from the moment I first brought her home to Ballymar."

"With all due respect, Your Grace, High Lord Michael of Llyr never imprisoned Deasun, decapitated his friends, and threatened to hang him alongside his liegelord either. That does tend to make a bit of a difference."

Dhugal sighed. "Aye, it does."

#

_ February 12_

_ Ballymar Castle_

"I'm so tired of being a prisoner in my own home, Lady Ailidh. I've got to get out!" Mirjana sighed as she stared out the window. "It's such a beautiful day, despite the wintry weather."

"Aye, it's right sunny today, and warm enough at noonday despite it being only mid-February. The snows have even started thawing. Hopefully we'll have an early spring this year." Ailidh gave her tablet weaving cards another turn, checking the developing pattern on the trim she was weaving before continuing. "And it will be even warmer in Rhemuth by the time we return there for Easter Court in late March, so that's something to look forward to."

"If I have to stay cooped up inside until we're back in Rhemuth, I shall go barking mad." The Duchess turned away from the window. "Caoilainn hasn't mentioned any new premonitions to me lately. Has she shared any with you or Jass?"

Ailidh shook her head. "None since nearly a week ago, Your Grace." She gave the tablets another turn. "But if you're hoping that means all danger to you has passed, I'm afraid the second sight doesn't quite work like that."

Mirjana walked across the room, opening a small coffer. "I didn't suppose that it would. But I am not going to be held hostage to fear any longer." Noting the rising alarm in her lady-in-waiting's eyes, she shook her head. "Oh, I'm not going to do anything so foolhardy as venture out in the gardens or leave the castle grounds. But surely it would be difficult for anyone to get to me if I simply venture up to the castle roof."

"Well…." Ailidh considered the idea. "I suppose that would be the safest of the possible options, if you intend to go out of doors, but what would you do out there?"

"Breathe!" Mirjana exclaimed. She examined the contents of the box she held, then smiled in satisfaction. "And sketch a bit. Mayhap even paint. There's a lovely view of the surrounding countryside from up there, not to mention all of Ballymar below. And unless an assassin plans to storm the castle to get to me, I should be perfectly fine up there."

Ailidh sighed. "I should accompany you in any case. Dhugal will have my head if I don't."

"You're quite welcome to. I'm sure you must hate being locked up just as much as I do."

The Border woman couldn't very well disagree, and she had come to know her Duchess well enough to realize there was no point in arguing the matter any longer. She detached the warp threads of the tablet weaving from her belt and rose, setting the work to one side. "I'll fetch our cloaks, then. You've no idea how cold and windy it is on a castle rooftop in Cassan during mid-February. You'll want gloves as well, or your fingers will be too stiff to sketch in a matter of minutes."

#

Glistening white snow frosted the ground as far as the eye could see, though a closer look revealed welcome hints that the wintry weather was already starting to lose its grip on the countryside. In the distance, a pale blue sky bent to kiss gray-green ocean. Closer, at the base of the bluff on which Ballymar Castle stood, large waves crashed against sheer walls of rock jutting out at a steep angle. The castle's foundation seemed to emerge from the rock as if it were some organic edifice grown from the living bedrock rather than built upon it.

A most formidable castle, Ballymar was. Mirjana smiled to herself as she arranged her art supplies on the small table that Lady Ailidh had brought up to her by one of the Cassani pages. A shy lad, this one, quite unlike the more ebullient Aidan whom the Duke her husband had brought with him on his last trip to Rhemuth. She nodded her thanks to the boy, who bobbed a polite bow at her and then scurried off.

Ailidh handed the Duchess a fresh sketchboard fetched from her previously prepared stock before the two women had made their way up one of the tower staircases to exit the Castle along the North wall. Mirjana propped one end of the board on one of the lower surfaces of the crenelated wall, holding the other hand steady with her left hand while preparing to sketch with her right. "I do wish I'd thought to buy an easel while I was in Rhemuth," she said wistfully.

"What's an easel, my lady?" Ailidh asked, leaning against the wall to give their surroundings a quick but careful study, on the alert for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. The swift perusal confirmed that she and Mirjana were alone on the rooftop, save for the guards posted at each of the tower doors.

"It's a type of stand for a board or a framed canvas…like so," Mirjana explained, mentally sending Ailidh a brief image of what she meant.

Ailidh considered the mental picture. "I wish I'd known you needed that sort of thing. We haven't an easel in the storage rooms, I don't think, but we do have a tripod stand—the sort made for holding a cooking pot over a campfire—that could easily be made to serve as one if a small bar were welded or lashed across two of the legs, like so." She sent a mental picture back. "It wouldn't take but a few minutes to make it. I can ask one of the men to put it together for the next time you want to set up a sketchboard."

The Duchess gazed out over the Cassani landscape, adding a few deft strokes of charcoal to her board. "I don't suppose you could run down and get it now?"

"And leave you unescorted, Your Grace?" Ailidh snorted. "Are you that keen on watching Dhugal rip me to shreds?"

Mirjana sighed. "Ailidh, I'd hardly be alone up here. There's a guard at every tower, and I'm mostly hidden behind a wall. From the ground, I doubt anyone can even see me. Surely he'd have no cause to take you to task for leaving me alone for just a few minutes under such circumstances, but if you're truly worried, I'll assume full responsibility."

"Aye, I'll tell him that when he's ripping my head off and spitting down my neckhole. I don't supposed you've ever seen your husband _truly_ in a raging temper? I've had the privilege once, and I'm not ashamed to say I came near to wetting myself." Ailidh's lips twitched. "Though I did end up getting a husband after it was all over, it's not the solution I'd recommend to any other lass for getting herself hitched." She sent Mirjana a few brief images of her accidental "elopement" and the Duke's reaction to finding an extra rider in his party. The duchess turned to gape at her, exploding with startled laughter.

"You knew Sir Jass already before that, though, I hope?" Mirjana smiled at her lady-in-waiting a trifle wistfully. "I was under the impression yours was a love match."

"Oh, it is. Though I did manage to tumble into it all arse-backwards."

"So I saw." The duchess chuckled anew at the memory of Ailidh garbed like a Transha man-at-arms, quivering atop her 'borrowed' horse before the Duke's wrath. "You seem very close to the Duke," she observed. "How long have you known each other?"

Ailidh willed back a blush. "All our lives, or nearly so, at least. I suppose you could say Dhugal sees me as the _other_ sister he never had." She gave a self-conscious laugh. "It's all a bit complicated. Caldreana and I were thick as thieves. I assume he's told you about Caldie?"

"His sister who is really his aunt? Only a little." Mirjana gave a bemused smile. "You MacArdrys are very confusing to me."

Ailidh laughed. "Well, you can blame a McLain for confusing that matter. I assure you that even in Transha, our family trees normally make a bit more sense than _that!"_

The sound of approaching footfalls made both women turn. A page approached them, bowing low before Mirjana before turning towards Ailidh. "Beg pardon, m'Lady, but I was sent tae fetch ye. Yer elder lad's fell in th' nursery an' busted his knee but good. I'm told His Grace is tendin' tae 'im, but yer wanted directly."

"I…." Ailidh glanced uncertainly at Mirjana, who made a shooing gesture at her.

"Go! I'll be fine." The Duchess tilted her head at the nearest tower. "The roof is well guarded, remember?"

The lady-in-waiting sighed. "Aye. I'll be back as soon as I can, if you've not returned to your chambers by the time we're done tending to Ciaran." She hastened off, the young page following in her wake.

#

Mirjana's eyes were focused on the landscape forming on the whitened board before her. She did not sense the familiar presence approaching from behind her until it was nearly too late.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

_February 12, 1133_

_ Ballymar Castle_

"Séamidh, stop!" Caoilainn giggled as she gently pushed at the squire's shoulder. The lad was standing with one hand resting on the wall behind her, leaning in slightly and all but pinning her to the cool rock surface in apparent hopes of stealing a kiss, though he stepped back obligingly enough when she chose to sidestep his amorous advance instead. "I thought th' Duke had a rule for ye lads about tha' sort o' thing. 'At least six inches o' daylight 'twixt th' lads an' lasses', aye?"

"Well, you know, an inch is meant to be measured by the width of a man's thumb, and if that's the case, then it's a good thing I've got slender hands." His eyes twinkled teasingly down at her in the dim rushlight.

"Stop foolin' about; we'll be expected back soon, an' I dinnae want tae risk bein' sacked on account o' ye bein' such a randy goat!" Caoilainn softened her words with a flirtatious grin tossed back over her shoulder at him as she edged quickly away, picking up one handle of the storage chest they had been sent downstairs for. "I dinnae suppose ye can be o' some use an' help me wi' this?"

"Aye, of course." The squire gave the pretty tiring maid a wistful grin as he dutifully lifted the other end of the heavy chest. "Can't blame a man for trying, though."

"Sure I could…but I willnae." The lass smiled. "But I'm a marryin' sort o' lass, sae if ye truly want me kisses, ye'll have tae court me proper." She moved towards the stone staircase, Séamidh following her lead closely, readying himself to take the bulk of the shifting weight in the chest once the pair started their ascent.

The squire hardly wasted a moment considering the girl's statement. "When's your next half-day, then?"

"Tuesday next. Shall I save it for ye? Tadgh's been askin' if he can take me out walkin' sometime, but he's dithered sae much about when, I've about lost patience wi' him."

Séamidh nearly dropped his end of the load. Up until that moment, he'd not even considered she might have other offers for her half-day. "Aye, I'll walk wi' ye," he assured her, momentarily forgetting his Court training in his startlement.

The pair had reached the narrow landing when Caoilainn gasped, her hands loosing involuntarily from the handle of the storage chest, which fell with a thud onto the stone floor, nearly sending Séamidh into a tumble. He recovered his footing, staring at the girl's face, which had suddenly turned pale.

"It's happenin', Séamidh," she told him in a horrified whisper, tears springing into her eyes. "Sweet Jesú…it's happenin' _now_!"

#

Ailidh rushed into the nursery. Lady Mhairi and the two junior nursemaids looked up at her in surprise.

"How is he?" she asked, looking around the playroom, looking for Ciaran and Dhugal.

"How is who?" Mhairi asked, puzzled, wondering at Lady Ailidh's breathlessness and slightly disheveled appearance in the doorway.

The gray-green gaze landed on Ciaran, who grinned up at his mother from the mat where he lay on his belly playing with his brother. "Are ye dinin' wi' us today, Ma?"

Ailidh's face drained of color. "He's no' taken a fall, then, Mhairi? Dhugal's no' had tae heal 'im?"

The Llyrian nursemaid stared at her in bewilderment. "Had to heal whom, Ailidh?"

The full import broke. "Oh, Jesú…." Ailidh tore off down the corridor in the direction she had come.

#

Dhugal sat in his counting room, going over the tallies on his exchequer table. He glanced outside at the white but sunny vista, wishing he were out in it, riding Ballymar's borders perhaps, or simply enjoying the early afternoon rays.

He had just turned his attention back to his work when he heard a clamor outside the door. He stood, opened it to see his squire and his wife's tiring maid talking excitedly to Sir Jass. Dhugal frowned, wondering what new vision the lass had seen now. He headed down the corridor toward the trio.

#

The man's face, contorted with rage, loomed over her. He was saying something, angry words uttered in a low menacing growl, but Mirjana could not understand them in her terror. She gathered up her energies for a psychic defense, but her focus was shattered by the pain of his strong grip upon her arm. His arm lifted, the sunlight glinting off something metal clutched in his right hand, and then the clenched fist holding the weapon dropped sharply.

She had just enough time to let loose a mental scream.

#

The scream reverberated through Dhugal's mind, and even Jass—attuned as he was to his master's mind-touch—caught the echoes of the psychic wave. Jass bit back a curse, rolling back his shields unasked as Dhugal quickly probed for the information the Duchess's tiring maid had just shared with him. The men's eyes met.

"Looks like the section just beyond the North Tower," Dhugal said. They took off at a run.

#

The man watched the Torenthi woman's form crumple to the ground, saw his brother fall too in the same instant, though one fallen form was seen only though the eyes of memory. The long braid coiled around her head, black as that hellspawn Lionel's mane had been, snakelike to the Cassani man's eyes. A portent of evil. It must be cast out, trodden under heel, eradicated from the heart of his beloved land.

He raised his dagger to strike at it before it could strike him, meaning to hew it to bits before moving downwards to sever the head next, as they had done to his own flesh and kin, but the door behind him burst open and he found himself surrounded again, pressed on both sides between the oncoming assailants and the stone parapet, the gap between himself and the oncoming foe closing swiftly.

Closing in, heralding his doom even as the uncovered shields of Marley's treacherous men had shouted his that long-ago dire day.

Nay, they'd not take him alive. He meant to die a warrior's death, not a craven's.

He snatched up the Torenthi foe, holding the hostage as a shield, his dagger's edge pressed to her slender neck as he stepped backwards towards the outer edge of the castle wall.

#

Dhugal tore past the startled Tower guard, Jass at his heels. "Yer Grace, m' lord, what's th'— ?" The man's confusion rose as the Duke pushed past him without explanation, heading north along the castle wall. He stared, wondering if he should keep to his post or follow.

Jass dispelled his doubt. "For God's sake, man, keep up!" The Transha man, not awaiting an answer, took off after his liegelord.

The guard followed in their wake, his swift steps echoing theirs as he followed the curve of the wall until his keen eyes spotted the Duke's quarry. And then he stopped in horror, for he recognized both figures pressed against the outer wall. One was the new Duchess of Cassan, who had smiled at him in greeting a mere half hour earlier.

The other, the man, had also smiled at him, and the guard had let him pass. After all, why should he not have? They'd been companions since boyhood. Had been through all manner of things together, from childhood frolics to wenching to war...

He realized, finally, why the other man had come up here, and the blood drained from his face.

"Nay, oh sweet Jesú nay, no' tha'! Oh God, Deasun, wha' hae ye done!"

#

Ailidh headed for the North Tower also, but stopped abruptly, remembering the message that had been sent to summon her away from her charge. The page had been sent up the North Tower as well, which meant that whoever had sent the lad must have known where to find the Duchess. He or she would be watching that door, most likely, so Ailidh was unlikely to catch the assassin unaware by means of that approach.

Frantically she cast a mental sweep around for any signs of Dhugal or Jass. She detected them at last, not far from where she had last seen the Duchess.

Breathing a silent prayer, Ailidh whirled and ran towards the access door to the Northwest Tower.

#

"Deasun, it's Dhugal." The Duke spoke quietly, hoping his voice would get through to a part of his seneschal's heir's mind that was still rational. "The war is over, Deasun. You're holding a woman, not a warrior. Let her go." Dhugal's eyes remained locked on the man before him, although his sword hand slowly edged toward the hilt resting against his side.

Lord Deasun's eyes met his, but they were vacant. Dhugal could sense that the man was not wholly present in the moment, that part of his mind had gone back a dozen years.

"They've come to kill us, Your Grace," Deasun said, his voice hollow. "They'll never stop. It's blood they want, fields of it, no mercy, my lord. No mercy." Tears streamed down his cheeks. "Not even for the youngest of the young men." His voice broke, and Dhugal knew the seneschal's son saw his brother's lifeless body before him. "Even th' pages fell, m'lord!" He went quiet for a moment. "Is Daivi safe?"

"Safe and at home with your mother," Dhugal assured him, though Daivi was a man grown now, no longer a lad too young to ride off to war with the Cassani levies. "The woman is mine, though, Deasun, and I'm your liegelord. Do you recognize me?"

The man's eyes lit in brief recognition. "Aye, Dhugal. You're Duncan's son." The gaze clouded again. "The priest's son…that can't be right." He began to drift back to his younger years. "Th' Duke would know. Must find Jared. They'll no' hae killed him; they'll want th' ransom…."

"The war is over, Deasun. We're back in Cassan." Dhugal's hand found his sword hilt, but hesitated to draw the weapon yet for fear of setting the warrior off. "Set my wife down so we can talk." He glanced at Mirjana's still form, his heart pounding in his chest. Only the slow rise and fall of her breast assured him that she still lived. "She's unconscious, Deasun. She can't hurt you."

Jass had slowly edged to one side, hoping to ease closer to the man while he was distracted by the Duke, but now Deasun sensed his presence. His gaze whipped around to the Transha man, the hand holding the knife tightening as he moved it closer to Mirjana's throat. Jass froze.

_Nay, we can't risk it_, Dhugal Mind-spoke to him. _If all else fails, I'll try a mental attack, but he's got that blade a mere hair's-width from her neck already, so we can't risk startling him until his defenses are down. _

Jass wordlessly acknowledged his Duke's words, his mouth tight-lipped as he stood down, forcing himself to a calm he didn't feel as he watched the byplay between Cassan's Duke and its seneschal's heir.

Some level of awareness came back into Deasun's eyes as he watched the taut Duke. "Yer th' Transha lad. Jared's grandson."

"Aye, I am."

Deasun's eyes flicked briefly to the woman he held. He shook his head sadly as he looked back up at the young Duke. "She's no' good for ye, lad. Aye, she's a right fetchin' piece, but she's Torenthi. String ye up as soon as look at ye, th' Torenthi will, if they've no' hacked yer head off first." His fingers flexed on the dagger hilt. "Mayhap I should tak' care o' her for ye, keep ye safe."

Dhugal swallowed down bile. "Why don't you set her down gently and come here, and then you can tell me all about it? Jass will stand guard over her."

The man glanced at Jass, then back at Dhugal. "They mean tae kill us a', y'know." But his hand started to lower from Mirjana's neck. "She's right comely. I can see how ye were bewitched, but yer a McLain. Ye cannae keep her, y'know. Ain't fittin', th' Duke o' Cassan marryin' himself tae a Torenthi demon. But it's a' right; I'll free ye from her."

#

Ailidh slipped up the spiral staircase of the Northwest Tower. The guard at the top greeted her with a nod.

"Her Grace is in mortal danger," the Transha woman informed him without preamble, her voice low. "She's between here and the North Tower, up on the wall. I don't know what we're up against, so best bring your bow as well as your sword."

The man looked startled. "Are ye sure? I'm no' supposed tae leave my post…." He took a quick glance around him, but saw no threat.

Wait. There, along the castle wall's patrol path, was a bit of movement next to where the stone parapet curved northward in the distance. It appeared to be a man, one holding a limp figure. He was facing away, his attention on something or some person unseen from this angle.

"Stay here, m' lady," the guard urged, moving purposefully yet quietly towards the two figures in the distance to investigate more closely.

Ailidh drew her belt dagger, holding it at the ready as she followed the guard. "Nay, she's my charge, and she might have need of me. Besides, I'm Deryni. Do as you must, and I'll do likewise." Both kept close to the parapet as they drew closer, in hopes of avoiding the notice of the man ahead, Ailidh drawing on her Deryni powers to lend them extra stealth.

As they continued around the curve of the wall, it cleared the bulk of the castle keep enough for the guard and Ailidh to catch a glimpse of Dhugal and Jass up ahead, facing them from the other side of the assailant and the hostage. If the two men saw their approach, they gave no sign; then again, Ailidh hadn't expected them to. Both men were far too battle-seasoned to signal an ally's approach to their cornered enemy.

The guard she was following stopped in his tracks. Ailidh sensed the anguish washing over him like a torrent. "Oh, Jesú, it _cannae_ be."

His face paled as he finally recognized the Duchess's attacker.

#

Deasun wavered as his Duke continued to reason quietly with him. The woman was heavy on his arm, the full weight of her unconscious body starting to make his arm ache. Far heavier than the shield he'd once borne on that arm, before an attacker had shattered it on the battlefield. No Torenthi man, that foe, but a man of Marley. Aye, he hated them too.

The old war wound ached, and Deasun longed to ease it, but he dared not release his prisoner. She was still out cold, but she might start to stir at any moment, and he could not risk her coming back to consciousness, for she was not merely Torenthi, but Deryni too, as Wencit had been. Wencit and his unholy kin. She was one of _them_, one of the Furstán line, and deserved to die.

Not all Deryni deserved to die, of course. Duke Jared's younger lad was Deryni, as were Jared's foster children. Deasun remembered them well, though he'd been much younger, nearly a decade younger than the McLain Deryni lad who had gone off to become a priest. What had happened to him?

Oh, that's right…he'd become Duke afterwards. After the war, when Cassan had brought home its ragged remnant and struggled to forget, to survive the aftermath. The nightmares. And in time, he had brought home a son. His son was Duke now.

Deasun looked at the woman in his arms and had a sudden realization. He was not going to survive this day.

Then again, he didn't want to. He wanted to sleep, one final blissful sleep without dreams, without happy memories that turned into nightmares, waking him screaming in the darkness.

She slept, and he envied her. Envied the Torenthi witch, blissfully unconscious of his inner torment.

She was beautiful, though, and she might already be carrying a McLain child within her. He'd heard the washing-women speak of it, heard them speculate that she might already be breeding, for they'd been given no bloody laundry to wash since her arrival. The thought saddened Deasun, but there was no help for it. He could not allow a Torenthi McLain to live; the very thought was an abomination.

The Duchess would have bloody laundry to offer soon enough. He smiled. He would slit her throat quickly, showing her more mercy than her kinsmen had shown his Duke and kin. It was a better death than hanging, and a far better fate than surviving. She'd have no nightmares after.

And neither would he.

#

Deasun tightened his grasp on Mirjana. His dagger hand shot back up towards her throat. With a sharp cry, Dhugal focused his concentration on the man's mind, trying to exert control over Deasun's will, but it was a form of combat he was far less used to than sword and shield, and he was standing at a distance from Deasun, not in physical contact with the man. It took him a precious second to wrench Deasun's hand back, though the blade moved away from Mirjana's slow pulse only a mere half inch. As the Duke pitted his psychic will against the assassin's physical strength, he was vaguely aware of Jass leaping forward to one side of him, the North Tower guard pleading with Deasun to the other side of him, bringing up a sword….

But he had no more attention to spare for that, for at the moment his entire world was concentrated down to wresting that slim, shining blade further away from his wife's throat.

#

"Release!" Ailidh cried out, knowing the time for stealth had passed. But the guard's hand shook on the bowstring as he attempted to aim his arrow, his years of training and battle discipline deserting him as he tried to take aim at his boyhood companion, the tears streaming down his face rendering him half blind.

She realized what the problem was then, and a surge of compassion filled her, though there was no time to spare for it at the moment. "I'll do it, man," she said softly, laying her hand on his shoulder and gently taking mental control. His grip loosened on the bow, and she eased it swiftly out of his grasp, nocking an arrow and taking quick yet careful aim, using her Deryni powers to guide the shaft home.

#

Jass leaped through the air even as the arrow sank deep into Deasun's throat. He caught Mirjana as she fell from her assailant's loosened grasp, rolling her clear of his falling body. A shower of blood fountained forth from the dying man, drenching her shoulder and her chest with crimson as the Transha retainer cushioned her fall. With a slight roll, they both hit the stone patrol path, though Jass was careful not to roll off the inner edge of the wall with his unconscious charge into the Castle gardens far below.

Dhugal and the North Tower guard rushed forward, but neither was fast enough to catch Deasun's inert body before it plummeted over the parapet and onto the rocky bluff below the wall.

#

Ailidh shook in belated reaction as she watched Dhugal tending to his wife. "Is she all right?" she asked Jass in a low voice.

"Aye, mostly," he assured her. "She's go' a wee nick on her neck, but only a scratch. Deasun knocked her out cold tae start out wi', sae she's concussed, but Dhugal'll hae her right as rain." His whisky-colored eyes studied his wife's face as he drew her close. "Are _ye_ a' right?"

"Aye." Her eyes filled with tears. "I shouldnae hae left her, Jass. I thought Ciaran was hurt, but I should hae checked first. Deasun used a page tae lure me away…."

"It's a' right, lass. She's safe now." Jass's gentle voice tried to soothe her distress, but her trembling only increased.

"Whoever hurts m' Duchess hurts m' Duke, an' _naebody_ bluidy well hurts m'Duke!" she wailed.

"Aye, God hae mercy on th' man who tries, wi' my fierce lioness around!" Jass agreed, stifling a chuckle as he kissed her brow. "Come along, _chuisle_, let's get some whisky intae ye. Ye're worse off than ye think, if ye've gone all Transha lass on me!"

#

The Duke of Cassan cradled his Duchess in his arms. He had healed her of her injuries, though as she started to stir into wakefulness he eased her back into slumber. She would wake again soon enough, would want to know what had happened, but there would be time enough for that later.

Right now, he had to inform one of the most loyal men in Cassan that his heir was now dead, and why. It was a burden that weighed heavily on Dhugal's soul.

He sent the two guards down to fetch Deasun's body from the rocks below, then looked up at Jass. "I don't know if Deasun acted in this alone or with assistance, but until I can find out, I want Mirjana and the children safely away." He stood, lifting his wife and handing her over to his lieutenant's keeping, his tight expression softening slightly as he saw Ailidh's gaze upon him. He took one of her hands in his, bowing over it. "See my family and yours safely back to Rhemuth before you lose yourself in a bottle of MacRorie's Old, aye, _a chara_?"

"Aye," she whispered, her tears threatening to spill over her cheeks, though she blinked them away proudly.

"Good lass." He turned her palm up and kissed it, closing her fingers gently around it, then turned to Jass. "Keep them safe."

"I'll help them back tae Rhemuth, Your Grace, but you'll require assistance here. Her Grace will be in far less danger there than here; Ailidh should be able tae keep them protected well enough wi'out me." Jass raised a brow at his Duke as the latter started to protest. "An' there are other Deryni in Rhemuth who can look after them as well. But ye'll need a man here ye can trust."

"I have Séamidh."

"Aye. An' I've nae doubts o' th' lad's loyalty, but he's young an' untried. Besides…." He gave his wife a wry smile. "Ailidh willnae gie me a night's rest if I'm lyin' safe in a Rhemuth bed instead o' watchin' yer back. Dinnae make me live wi' th' hell she'd give me!"

#

Caoilainn swiftly packed her mistress's belongings into a trunk, readying it for Séamidh to carry downstairs. The squire entered the bedchamber.

"Be sure to pack some clothing for yourself, too. His Grace wants you to accompany the Duchess."

She swallowed hard, folding a veil to place into the trunk. "Aye, he told me. Ye'll be careful, aye?" The tiring maid blinked back tears.

"I'll be fine. Have fun in Rhemuth." He smiled at her. "There's a lot to see at Court. I just wish I could be there to show it to you."

"I'll save me half-days for ye," she told him, turning her face away so he couldn't see her distress.

"I'll count on that, then." He closed the distance between them, turning her to pull her into his embrace. "Lass, don't cry. You probably saved her, you know."

Caoilainn shook her head. "I dinnae see enough, I couldnae stop it…."

"You did enough." He gave her cheek a tender kiss, her tears salting his lips. "You'd best get done packing; the Duke won't want to wait too long." He smiled down at her. "You'll get to travel Deryni style, so I'll want to hear all about what that's like when you get back!"

#

Dhugal's squire watched as the Duke's family and small MacArdry retinue disappeared through the Transfer Portal. A short while later Dhugal returned, looking far older than his twenty-five years and more alone than Séamidh had ever seen him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

_February 13, 1133_

_ Rhemuth Castle, Duke of Cassan's apartments_

"Why do they hate us, Mama?" Mikhail's brown eyes stared up at Mirjana in confusion.

She pulled her son into her lap, stroking his raven hair. "They don't know any better, son." She thought for a few moments, trying to figure out how to explain. "A very long time ago, before you were born, when I was just a little girl, there was a war. The war was started by one of our distant cousins, a Furstán King named Wencit. He believed that he was the rightful King of Gwynedd as well as Torenth and that King Kelson, who was just barely past being a boy himself at the time, should not be a King at all. And so he fought a war, but he didn't fight fairly according to the usual rules of war, and as a result of that a lot of people from Cassan and Kierney died. Their families still hate us because we remind them of King Wencit."

"_Was _he the rightful King, Mama?"

The Torenthi woman gave a rueful sigh. "Oh, son, I doubt it. It's true that his line of the Furstans had a claim to the throne once, but their reign in Gwynedd ended over two-hundred years ago, and the simple fact is that the Haldanes ruled Gwynedd before their time and ever after then. So Kelson _is_ the King of Gwynedd now probably just as much in right as in simple fact. I don't think anyone truly disputes the truth of that anymore in Torenth—at least not King Liam-Lajos, and if any man in Torenth had a legal right to the claim, he would."

"Duke Teymuraz does, though. He wants to be King."

Mirjana's eyes darkened. "Yes. Teymuraz will grab at power any way he can get it, though, and as high as he can possibly reach. But just because he wants to be King of both lands does not mean he has a lawful right." She glanced at Duncan Michael, who had fallen asleep in a corner of their solar, one hand clutching his favorite wooden horse. "If a child wished to have a wooden horse, and he saw Duncan Michael's and did everything he could to take it from him, even to the point of harming him, would that be right, my love?"

Mikhail's eyes lit with outrage. "No, Mama, and I would kick him if he tried! Duncan Michael is little, and I told the Duke I would help take care of him!"

Mirjana suppressed a smile. "And you would be right to take care of your little brother, though in that particular case I would hope you would seek out a nursemaid's assistance instead of simply settling the matter with your feet. But I only mention that example because that is very much like what King Wencit, and now Duke Teymuraz, have tried to do with the Kingdom of Gwynedd. But they have not the right."

Mikhail frowned, thinking over the situation. "If I were King Kelson," he finally told her, "I think I should want to give King Wencit and Duke Teymuraz a hearty thrashing."

Mirjana choked down a laugh. "Well, King Wencit is dead now, so I suppose _his_ fate is up to God to decide, but yes, I am certain King Kelson would love to give Teymuraz a right good thrashing."

#

_February 13_

_ Ballymar Castle, Cassan_

Lord Deveril looked as if he'd aged twenty years in just one day. His last remaining son, Lord Daivi, stood beside him, occasionally giving his sire a look of concern.

"Your Grace, in light of my heir's recent actions against you and your house, my household and I would beg for clemency. If it is your pleasure, and our lives not be forfeit, we shall retire to our family's manor at Grangegaeth."

Dhugal sighed tiredly. "You are welcome to retire to Grangegaeth if your family needs some time to yourselves to mourn for Deasun, of course. But I still have need of you and your household, Deveril, even more so now than ever. I know the reasons Deasun acted as he did, and don't hold his actions against you." He shook his head. "He was far more affected by the war with Wencit than I ever realized, nor do I think you suspected the depth of his mind-sickness either."

Deveril shook his head in sorrow. "I did not, my lord. Had I known, I most certainly would have warned you. I never dreamed my own flesh and blood would be a danger to you and yours. Deasun was ever bred to his duty, but beyond that, I believed that he shared my own love for your House..." The older man choked back tears.

"Be at ease, Lord Deveril. I do not blame you for your son's choices, nor have I ever doubted your loyalty and love." Dhugal leaned back in his chair, studying the quiet man standing beside the seneschal. "Lord Daivi, you are now your father's heir, yet I would not bind you to your hereditary post if your future duties would be odious to you. So I will ask you plainly, will you be willing to serve me as my seneschal of Cassan once your lord father passes on or grows too old for the task? Your manorial lands at Grangegaeth shall be your inheritance regardless, so long as you continue in fealty to me, but if you feel you would not be able to serve me as seneschal with good conscience, I would know that now."

Lord Daivi swept the Duke of Cassan a deep bow. "I have no such qualms of conscience, Your Grace. I grieve for my brother, aye—how could I not?—yet I know full well how greatly he wronged you. I shall do my utmost to always render you good service as has my father before me." He glanced at Deveril. "Though if you would grant our family grace to retire to Grangegaeth for a fortnight, we would be grateful. My lady mother has taken Deasun's death very hard."

Dhugal nodded. "And your sisters?"

Daivi gave him a wry smile. "Domenica and Daireen grieve also, of course, but they are more...resigned? It was no secret among us that Deasun has not been fully himself these past dozen years, although we did not know how dark his mind-blight had become. I believe he sought his death, and that he saw the final strike that ended his life as a kindness. Though I am profoundly sorry he used an attack on your lady wife as the means of bringing it about."

The Duke knew the truth of both men's words. He had been Truth-Reading both as they spoke, although he had never truly doubted either man's loyalty. Still, under the present circumstances, he could hardly afford to be less careful. He had also believed Deasun, for all his emotional pain, to be as loyal to him as the rest of his family had always been, and his Duchess had nearly died as a result of his negligence.

Then again, a simple Truth-Reading might not have revealed Deasun's treachery either, unless Dhugal had known beforehand the right questions to ask. After all, the man had probably believed himself to be fully loyal to the House of MacArdry McLain even to the end; had probably thought ridding the duchy of a Torenthi duchess and a potential heir to be the ultimate proof of his fidelity to the ducal line, undesired though he surely must have known his actions would be to his liegelord.

#

_ February 14_

_ Bishop's Study, St. Hilary's Basilica_

The bishop's kindly blue eyes looked startled to see Mirjana, though they swiftly warmed as his grandson's hands tugged at his cassock in his eager joy to see his 'Papa Duncan' again. He bent to scoop Duncan Michael up into his arms.

"Welcome back, my lady! I had not expected to see you all back from Cassan until closer to Easter." He grinned as his son's heir planted a sticky wet kiss on his cheek. "Come in." Duncan stepped back from the doorway to allow Mikhail, Mirjana, and the heavily blanketed baby she held through. "Is Dhugal with you?" he asked Mirjana.

"No, he...had matters to take care of at home. He sent us ahead." Her green eyes swept over the boys' heads. "I will explain more later."

"Ah." Duncan nodded, setting Duncan Michael down. "Well, lads, have you two seen Albin since you've been back?"

"No, my lord bishop," Mikhail answered for both of them, looking eager.

"Oh? Well, doubtless he's been rather busy eating that large batch of gingersnaps that his lady mother made yesterday evening. She was supposed to be making some for me as well, but they haven't been brought down yet. Maybe you two boys could go check on that?"

Mikhail barely stopped himself from bouncing with excitement. "May we, Mama?"

Mirjana bit her lip. "I suppose it would be...all right, so long as you don't pester."

Despite her words, Duncan sensed unspoken worry. "I could have one of the clerks escort them, if you'd like."

His daughter-in-law looked relieved. "Please?"

Duncan took in her tired expression, the protective way in which she watched both boys, and his concern grew. "Wait right here; I'll be right back." He stepped out of the study briefly, returning in a few moments with a young man dressed in the gray robes of a Servant of Saint Camber. "My lady, this is Brother Everard."

The young woman's eyes lit with recognition. "Yes, I remember him from my days with the Servants of Saint Camber before my marriage to your son." She smiled at the clerk. "Good morning, Brother Everard."

"Good morning, my lady. Hello, boys!"

"Hello, Brother Everard," Mikhail said, bowing dutifully.

Duncan Michael bowed also, studying the clerk curiously. "I have a brother too! I have _two_ brothers, but one's not borned yet. He's coming to my birthday."

"I see!" The clerk grinned at Duncan Michael's blushing stepmother. "That should be quite a celebration, then. And speaking of celebration, I believe a fresh batch of gingersnaps just came out of the oven..." Brother Everard led the boys away, leaving Mirjana and baby Trina with the bishop.

Duncan chuckled as he closed the door behind them. "I hope you meant for that news to get out, because telling Duncan Michael about it is as sure a way of making a public announcement as having the herald cry it out from the watch towers!" He offered his daughter-in-law a seat. "So, I'm to be a grandfather again in the autumn?"

"Yes," Mirjana confirmed shyly. Trina stirred in her arms, and she unwrapped the blankets from around her. The infant sat up, looking around at her surroundings with confused green eyes for a moment before her gaze settled on Duncan. She gave a gurgly giggle, her rosebud lips widening to a grin, revealing a few pearly teeth beginning to emerge.

Duncan sat across from the pair, holding out his arms to the baby. "Hello, heart. Do you remember your Papa Duncan?" Cherubic arms reached for him and he scooped her up, cradling her on his lap and brushing a brief kiss on her tawny fluff of hair. He looked back up at Mirjana. "I know you've only been away a month, but she seems to have grown." He sat back in his chair, absently lending his granddaughter a knuckle to teeth on. "What's wrong, Mirjana?"

Mirjana glanced instinctively behind her, as if to ensure the boys were still out of earshot. "It is not safe for us in Cassan right now. There was...an incident."

Duncan's brows rose. "What sort of incident?" he asked sharply.

She turned downcast eyes to her lap. "A man tried to kill me. And before that, my son overheard one of the grooms say that the only good Torenthi is a dead Torenthi." She lifted her eyes to his. "I am afraid for Mikhail. I do not believe Duncan Michael or Trina are in any danger, but..." She sighed. "I am not completely certain. So we are here for now, at least until the Duke my husband can determine if the man who tried to kill me acted alone or with the assistance of others."

Duncan looked shaken. "I'm very sorry, Mirjana. You are very welcome to stay here as long as you need to, either at the Castle or with the Servants of Saint Camber, if you would prefer to return here." He studied her carefully. "Were you harmed?"

She shook her head. "Not much. I had a head injury, so I have no memory of what happened after the initial attack, but Dhugal healed me. Aside from the blow to my head, I had a small cut on my throat, but nothing very deep." Mirjana shrugged. "He did not survive, though, my attacker. I worry for his family. They must be grieving his loss and feeling quite torn in their loyalties right now."

"Are you worried that they might try to follow his example?"

"Oh, no! No, my father, I hope not. Lord Deveril has always seemed most honest and faithful, at any rate. I should hope he will not turn against your House now. No, it was his heir who turned. From what I've been told, he believed himself to be back in Llyndruth Meadows again."

Duncan stared at his daughter-in-law a long moment in shocked disbelief before closing his eyes in sorrow for his former seneschal's loss.

#

_February 15_

_ Rhemuth Castle, the Royal Withdrawing Room_

"Oh, Mirjana, the Queen just informed me of your return and of the circumstances behind it! I am _so_ sorry you've had such difficulties." The Duchess Richenda's blue eyes were filled with compassion for the younger duchess. "Are you faring well enough now, or are you suffering from troubled sleep?"

Mirjana settled on a bench by the fire. "I dream, but…the dreams are very vague." She shrugged. "There is always some faceless threat lurking behind every shadow, but rarely seen. And when it does show itself, I wake up. But when I fall asleep again, it's just more of the same." She turned troubled eyes up at Richenda. "I am sure it will pass. It _must _pass. I cannot afford to remain scared of my own home and my people forever." Tears filled her eyes. "But I am more frightened for my son. He is trying to understand why people in Cassan despise us, and I have tried to explain it in terms he can relate to, but still, he has no notion of the true depth of it, I don't think." Mirjana sighed. "I have not told him the details of what happened to me, of course. He would only be frightened by it. But he is bright enough to know that _something_ has happened, and that there is some danger that has caused us to leave Cassan suddenly and return here, even if he is not aware of all the reasons behind that return."

"Yes, children are often much more perceptive than we give them credit for." Richenda looked troubled. "And if he suspects that you are both in danger, he might not be willing to confide in you for fear of worrying you. Little boys sometimes try to turn into little men that way, even when we mothers try to shield them enough so they can remain children. He _should_ have someone he can talk to, though…." The Duchess of Corwyn tilted her head consideringly. "Perhaps, if you wouldn't mind, my son Brendan could get to know your son? He's been busy getting established in Marley, but he's due to arrive in Rhemuth this week, and I'd be glad to arrange for an introduction. Nothing _too_ obvious, of course." She chuckled. "I'd hate for Mikhail to turn mulish and refuse to open up because he thinks we're being a couple of worrying old hens and making him talk to a man he's just met because _we're_ frightened women who think talking will solve everything."

Mirjana laughed. "Yes, I can imagine him thinking that. He is four now, and _so_ grown up!"

Richenda smiled. "Oh, you think it's bad now? Just wait until he turns fifteen—old enough to be truly grown up, yet still young enough to assume he knows more than his parents, who cannot _possibly_ understand what he's going through because we are far too old!" She shook her head. "Fortunately Brendan hasn't been hit with _too_ bad a case of that, but it surfaces from time to time, even if he's got the good sense not to express the opinion aloud, at least not in front of Alaric. Men!" She grinned. "There's a reason boys are so cute when they're small. It's so that their fathers will remember them as they once were and won't choke them when they're older." The grin faded slightly as she gave Mirjana another considering look. "How are Mikhail and Dhugal getting along?"

"Quite well, thanks be to God! I had worried they might not accept each other quickly, but I think Mikhail is quite eager to have a father, and as for my husband, he has been very patient with my son. Mikhail has started to look up to him, I think. I am glad; he deserves a better father than Nikos was."

"Yes. Bran was devoted to Brendan, but still, a boy needs a man he can emulate, and Bran was hardly that." Richenda fell silent for a short while, lost in thought, then spoke again. "I believe Brendan will be arriving sometime tomorrow. Would you and the children care to dine with our family the following evening? That would at least allow our sons the opportunity to meet. I can have a quiet word with Brendan beforehand, and if he thinks he might be able to help Mikhail, he can issue whatever invitation he thinks might please a little boy before the night is over. Maybe they can go for a pony ride, if the warming weather holds and if Mikhail is as pony-crazy as Brendan was at that age."

"Oh yes, very much so. Though if possible, he'll need a very gentle pony with a suitably fierce name. I am informed that 'Blossom' is no fit name for a man's steed." Mirjana's lips quirked, and Richenda burst out laughing.

"So noted. I'll inform my son."

#

_ February 19_

_ Rhemuth Castle, King's Tower_

"Look, there's the Keep!" Mikhail pointed out the military tower of the Castle to his new friend from the top of the King's Tower. "Mama and I lived there when we first moved to Rhemuth." He frowned. "We forgot our clothes, though, so Mama had to wash my tunic in the basin until we got new ones."

Brendan chuckled. "That sounds very inconvenient. You weren't there long, I hope?"

"No. We moved over _there_ later." Mikhail pointed towards St. Hilary's Basilica. "We stayed with the people with the gray robes, and I played with Albin, and then Mama married the Duke and we moved back into the Castle." He frowned slightly, looking down at the apartment block below as if trying to figure out where his current lodgings might be. It all looked so much smaller from up here.

"Over there, I think," Brendan supplied, pointing a finger downwards and at the approximate section of rooftop. "So, how do you like Rhemuth now?"

"It's all right." Mikhail shrugged. "But it's too cold."

Brendan nodded. "It's very cold in the winter here. But probably not as cold as Cassan." He glanced at the boy he was holding slightly aloft so Mikhail could view the castle grounds and the city of Rhemuth below over the tower parapet. "Do you like Cassan?"

Mikhail frowned. "I like playing with the toys there, and I like riding our pony, and I like the Duke my new papa, but not everyone likes us there and it makes my mama sad. And that makes me mad."

"I imagine it would!" Brendan set the boy back down. "It used to make me mad too when people said mean things about my mama, and even when they'd say them about my real papa, even though he'd done something that was very wrong, so they were right to be angry with him. Sometimes they'd say mean things about my new step-papa too, even though he hadn't done anything wrong, but they just didn't like him because he's Deryni."

Mikhail looked incredulous. "But that's silly! _Everyone's_ Deryni!"

Brendan chuckled. "Well, no, not quite everyone. But the thing is, sometimes people don't like other people because they have good reasons not to like them—if, like my papa, they'd done bad things they shouldn't have done—but sometimes people don't like other people just for silly reasons, like because those people are different from themselves somehow." He shrugged. "It's sad, but not everyone is going to like you, Mikhail, or your mama, or me. We can't help that. We just have to be the best people we know how to be, and hope that the people we respect the most can like us for who we are."

The Torenthi boy considered this advice solemnly. "My new papa likes me, I think. He lets me ride his pony. He won't let me be a duke when I grow up, though."

The Earl of Marley nodded. "Well, it's good that he likes you and that you like him. It's important for papas and sons to get along, even if it's a new papa. Maybe _especially_ if it's a new papa, because you expect the papa you were born with to like you, but it's hard to know what to expect from a new one sometimes, isn't it? Even if you like him and he likes you, you still have to learn how to live with each other, because you don't just automatically know how right from the start." He smiled sympathetically at his young friend. "And you know, Duke Dhugal really doesn't have any choice about the duke thing, no matter how much he likes you."

Mikhail sighed gloomily. "Oh, I know. Duncan Michael's in for it, poor little thing!"

Brendan stifled a laugh. "Oh, yes. Being a duke is a lot of hard work. My step-papa is a duke too, just like yours, but my little brother Kelric is his firstborn son, so Kelric will inherit Corwyn someday." His blue eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth. "Poor little thing!"

Mikhail studied his new friend for a long while. At last he ventured, "My real papa did a wrong thing too. What did yours do?"  
Brendan met the little boy's steady gaze. "Mine broke a promise to the King. He had promised to always serve the King of Gwynedd, but instead he decided to fight on another king's side instead, and because a lot of people didn't know he had switched sides and they trusted him, they ended up dying. Because of that, a lot of people used to think my Mama and I couldn't be trusted either, but now they've mostly decided that even though _he_ did some bad things, that doesn't mean _we_ will too."

"Oh." Mikhail bit his lip. "My papa made a promise to a king too, only his king wasn't a real one. And he wanted to steal someone else's land so it could be his instead. And...I think he might have done something even badder, but I don't know what it means." He fingered the cuff of one sleeve, trying to remember the strange word he'd overheard. "What is a reggieside?"

The Earl of Marley raised a red-gold brow. "Hm. A regicide?" He pursed his lips in thought, weighing his words carefully. "If a man murders a king, that is called regicide. Your papa tried to kill King Kelson last summer, but thankfully he didn't succeed, so technically he _didn't_ commit regicide. But yes, even just trying to kill him would be a bad thing." He placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "Do you suppose maybe he thought that if he killed King Kelson, his fake king might be able to become a real one?"

Mikhail nodded, tears springing to his eyes. "And he would become a duke, and then_ I_ would be one too when I grew up! But it's not right, becoming a duke that way, is it?"

"No, it's not." Brendan squeezed the boy's shoulder. "I'm an earl now, but do you know what I really wanted to be when I was your age, just as much as I wanted to be an earl?" He grinned. "Maybe even more, because it was something I knew I'd have to earn, not just inherit?"

The boy shook his head. "No, what?"

"I wanted to be a knight! I had these wooden knights I would play with all the time, and I dreamed about the day when I would grow big enough to be a real one. And then when my Mama told me she was going to marry Duke Alaric, I was so excited—not just because he was nice and he'd shown me how to fight with a sword properly, or because he lived in a big castle. I was happy because he could teach me how to become a real knight. And you know what? I'm still waiting for that dream to come true. I'm old enough to be an Earl now, but it will be a few more years before I can earn my spurs. But they'll mean something extra special when I do, because I'll have worked hard for them—first as a page, then as a squire, and now as the King's liegeman." He gave Mikhail a sympathetic smile. "I won't lie; it's nice to have a title and inheritance like Marley. But the way to truly win men's respect is by your own deeds and skill. A mere birthright won't win it. My father Bran Coris was Earl of Marley before me, but he lost the Kingdom's respect when he betrayed his King. It's up to me now to redeem the Marley title and the Coris name. But I fully intend to do so." He placed a finger under the boy's chin, raising Mikhail's face up to meet his gaze. "If you loved your father, despite the wrong things that he's done, the best legacy you can give his name is to live honorably and redeem your family name instead of simply living down to what he's made of it. If you live a life of integrity and earn your honors fairly, someday men will look at you and say, 'There goes Sir Mikhail Furstán von Brustarkia, a truly noble man,' and they'll see you as yourself, not just as your papa's son. And that will mean _far_ more to you than any title."

"But..." Mikhail studied his boot tips, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I think I might have killed my papa." He turned watery brown eyes up at Brendan.

The young Earl stared at Nikos's son in shock. "Why do you think that? I assure you that you didn't."

"Because..." The boy swallowed hard. "Because maybe if it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have done bad things trying to be a duke so I could have a title and lands! And because I was angry with him for being mean sometimes, and I prayed to God to make him stop being mean to anyone ever again. And then Papa died." Mikhail sniffed, ducking his head and blinking rapidly.

"I—" Brendan paused, at a loss for words. "Well, even if your papa had hopes that you'd be a duke someday, it's not right to do a wrong thing just because you love someone, and even if that _was_ his reason, he was old enough to know better, so that would have been his fault, not yours. A papa who loves you enough to want the very best for you wouldn't want you to blame yourself for something that _he_ chose to do. And as for praying he'd stop being mean sometimes, I'm sure God would have understood that you were just angry and that you didn't mean that you wanted your papa to die. God understands stuff like that even if we don't always know the best way to say things in our prayers, because He hears what's in our hearts, not just our words. But...um...your new grand-papa the Bishop would probably be a better person to talk to about _that_."

Mikhail grew calmer as he considered Brendan's words. At last he looked up at the earl, a look of resolve on his young face. "I know how I'm going to make up for my papa doing bad things."

"Oh? How's that?"

"_I'm_ going to be a hero."

Brendan smiled at the little boy. "A hero, hm? Well, that's certainly an admirable goal." He gave the landscape below one last sweeping look, then looked back at Mikhail. "It's getting pretty breezy up here. Why don't we go down and take a stroll over to the stables to look at the horses? You can tell me all about what it was like living in Byzantyun while we're walking."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

_ February 20, 1133_

_ Rhemuth Castle, Duke of Cassan's apartments_

Sir Jass stood at attention before the Duchess of Cassan. "Your Grace, the Duke informs me that Ballymar Castle is now as fully secure as we can make it. However, if you wish to remain in Rhemuth…." His voice trailed off as Mirjana shook her head vehemently.

"No. We shall return home." She gave him a faint smile. "Oh, I'd _love_ to stay here longer, but I cannot allow the people of Cassan to think that they can scare me away permanently. Besides, we shall be returning to Rhemuth soon enough, shan't we?"

"For Easter Court just over a month from now, yes, my lady."

"And Caoilainn hasn't had any more troubling premonitions. At least none that she's mentioned to me."

"She's mentioned none to me either." Jass paused. "By the by, my lady, the true reason for your sudden departure from Ballymar is not commonly known. Since the only eyewitnesses to Lord Deasun's treachery besides myself, the Duke, and Ailidh were the two tower guards, and since His Grace has managed to ascertain the loyalty of the rest of Lord Deveril's household beyond doubt, he has allowed the misconception to continue that Deasun simply either slipped or jumped off the Castle wall. That was the initial rumor that spread among the staff when his body was retrieved, and His Grace thinks it best to allow that impression to remain, to avoid further pain and shame falling upon Deveril's family were it to become more widely known that he died attempting treason against Your Grace. And Deasun was known to have seasons of despondency, so few seemed surprised that he died in such a way."

Mirjana stared into the fire for a few moments. At last she looked back up at Jass with a sad, resigned smile. "And my lord husband thinks it better that poor Lord Deasun be thought a suicide, his soul in eternal peril, rather than be thought a traitor or, worse, a martyred hero whose actions are to be emulated until someone manages to succeed in my removal?" She sighed. "If the Duke my lord thinks it best to allow the rumor to stand, I shall do as he thinks best. Such a belief can hardly hurt Lord Deasun further at this point, and if it helps to ease his family's suffering, I should hardly wish to deprive them of that solace." Mirjana closed her eyes, feeling heartsick. "Can we head back home in the morning, then, once the children are awake and have broken the night's fast?"

He nodded. "I'll make the necessary preparations, Your Grace." He bowed, turning to leave, but her soft voice stopped him.

"Sir Jass?"

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Is there a reason you only address me in your most correct Court dialect?"

Jass looked startled. "I—well, yes, my lady! So you can understand me more easily." He shrugged self-consciously. "The Border dialects can be difficult to make out for folk who aren't used to it."

She gave him a slight smile. "I see. I do appreciate your thoughtfulness and all your efforts on my behalf. However, my lord, am I not the Duchess of Cassan now?"

His bewilderment grew. "Aye..._Yes_, Your Grace! Of course you are."

"Sir Jass, I can never become truly of Cassan, or of your Borders, if I do not learn how to more fully adapt to your culture. And that includes your language. Please feel free to speak to me in the same manner that you would speak to my lord husband, at least when we are not required to be formal. I shall never learn to understand your dialect if I am not more frequently exposed to it." She grinned. "You cannot possibly be more incomprehensible to me than Caoilainn is."

Jass laughed. "Nay, Yer Grace, mayhap no', but doubtless I gie her a run for her money." He bowed once more. "As ye wish, m'lady. We'll have ye talkin' like a Transha lass in nae time."

Her smile grew. "I'll settle for being able to understand the average Transha lass. I'm not expecting you to work a miracle!" She studied him a long moment. "Would you convey a message to Lady Ailidh for me?"

"Aye, m'lady."

"Please tell her that I would count it a great honor if you both would call me by my given name in private. I have only a few friends here, and fewer in Cassan. I greatly value the ones I _do_ have."

Jass bowed deeply. "Th' honor is ours, Mirjana."

#

_ February 21_

_ Ballymar Castle, Cassan_

Dhugal drew his wife into his embrace, his lips brushing her veiled hair. "I've missed you, sweeting." His amber eyes darkened with concern as he studied her tired expression. "Have you been well?"

Mirjana shrugged. "I've not slept too well of late, but other than that, I am well." She offered up a smile. "Our baby flourishes."

"I'm glad, but I wish you were better rested. Is it just the babe disturbing your sleep, or have you had unsettling dreams?"

"A little of both," she told him, attempting nonchalance. "Do not fret, my lord. I am at least alive to have unsettling dreams."

Dhugal drew back slightly, a little self-conscious as the two MacArdry retainers brought their children through the Transfer Portal. Duncan Michael ran forward to hug his father's legs. The Duke grinned, disengaging from Mirjana to crouch down and sweep his son into his arms.

Mikhail held back, a shy wistfulness in his eyes. Dhugal looked up, seeing the boy. He beckoned him forward to wrap an arm around his shoulders also. "Hello, lad. And how was your visit to Rhemuth?"

The boy's face lit up. "I saw the whole Castle from up above, and we visited the horses, and I've got a knight! See?" He held up a carved wooden knight.

"So I see!" Dhugal admired Mikhail's new toy. "And does he have a name?"

"Oh, yes! He's Sir Brendan. The Earl of Marley gave him to me," Mikhail proclaimed proudly.

The Duke suppressed a grin. "'Sir Brendan,' is he? Well, I'm sure the real Brendan must be quite flattered, especially since you've granted him the accolade three years ahead of time."

"Well, he _will_ be a knight someday!" Mikhail assured him. "And so will I. _I'm_ going to be a hero!"

"Ah. I see. That's good; Gwynedd needs more heroes." Dhugal looked up at the boy's mother, a twinkle in his eyes. "I can see you've had a very eventful week. I'm looking forward to hearing all about it."

Ailidh popped back out briefly to bring Duncan McLain through the Transfer Portal as well, since he had not visited his former home in the brief months since it was constructed and therefore wasn't familiar with its signature yet. The Duke welcomed his father warmly.

"Lord Deveril's family will be very comforted to see you, Father." He gave the bishop a rueful grin. "For that matter, so am I!"

#

_ February 22_

_ Ballymar Castle nursery_

Ailidh peeked in on the ducal nursery just after sunrise. The children were still sound asleep. She replaced the blanket that Ciaran had kicked off during the night and gave the room a quick visual sweep. All looked to be in order.

Glancing down at the closest trundle, she spotted Mikhail, his right hand clutching his brand-new wooden knight close to his chest. She smiled, crouching to take a closer look at the crudely painted device on the carved shield. The lad had been covered with paint when his mother had discovered him late the night before, falling asleep over her paint box which he had somehow managed to smuggle into the nursery. It had been an hour's work to scrub him down thoroughly after, and the toy had been set aside to dry. He must have awakened sometime during the early morning hours to retrieve it.

Ailidh took a closer look at the shield device. Yes, it was as she'd suspected—Mikhail had painted an unskilled but recognizable depiction of the Marley arms. She sighed. She could hardly fault the lad for his newfound devotion to the young Earl of Marley, but there were also the feelings of the Cassani members of the Duke's household to consider. Not all of them would be so understanding of their Duke's new Furstán stepson having a sudden fascination with Bran Coris's heir.

#

_ February 23_

_ Ballymar Castle parklands _

Séamidh sat on one of the garden benches in the early afternoon sun, his warm woolen plaid wrapped around both himself and Caoilainn, snuggled into his side for warmth. His strong arm encircled her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"You look sleepy," he observed as she laid her head against his shoulder, her eyes drifting shut momentarily. "Are you resting any better than you were before, when you were having all those visions about Her Grace?"

The duchess's tiring maid shrugged. "I'm no' havin' nightmares anymore, if tha's wha' ye mean," she told him, "though I cannae say I'm restin' much better for a' tha'. I've had th' oddest dream, an' it's happened twice now, so I'm sure it means somethin', but I dinnae know wha'." She opened her eyes again, turning slightly to look up at her suitor. "It's like Her Grace is walkin' along a dark road—th' dream's sae dark, I can hardly even see her in it—an' after a bit she gets tae a fork in th' road. One way leads downward intae more darkness, an' th' other leads through a ragin' fire." She shrugged. "It's no' th' sort o' dream tha's meant tae be taken literal, though, an' I dinnae know wha' it means for her. I suppose it's a choice ahead or summat o' th' sort, but blimey if I know wha'."

Séamidh mused on the girl's dream for a moment. "Which path does she end up choosing?" he asked.

Caoilainn shook her head. "Both. I mean, th' first time I dreamt it, she took th' first path, and got swallowed up in darkness sae deep she never came back out. But th' second time, she walked straight intae th' fire. I worried she was goin' tae burn up. But she got through it, albeit a bit singed an' blistered, an' after tha' her path went upwards intae th' light." She fingered the edge of his plaid. "I reckon it means she's go' a tough choice ahead o' her, an' it's no' set which way she'll gae. But I cannae tell what sort o' choice it be."

The duke's squire nodded. "Have you told her about the dream yet?"

"Oh, aye! An' th' Duke an' Sir Jass as well, as I tell 'em all my visions, for what tha's worth." A shadow crossed her features. "I just wish I could see somethin' tha's actually helpful."

He gave her waist a squeeze. "Well, it could be that just knowing she has that sort of decision ahead of her might be helpful somehow, even if you can't see how just yet." Seamidh glanced at the pretty maid in his arms. "So, what was Deryni travel like?"

Caoilainn laughed. "It was right queer! One moment we were standin' in tha' little room off th' undercroft here in Cassan, waitin' for th' Duke tae come back tae say we could gae through. Then Lady Ailidh started pokin' about in me mind an' tickled it somethin' fierce, an' th' next moment there was this odd lurch an' everythin' went dark for a wee bit, like I was about to swoon, but I dinnae. Instead, I found meself in this cozy room—some sort o' library, I think it was—an' there was a priest there waitin' tae lead us though some sort o' magic door tha' also tickled inside me head, an' it just disappeared after we come through it." She grinned. "I know, ye probably think I'm barkin' mad, but tha's wha' it was like. But I suppose it was a' right. Better than a long trip on a horse, at any rate. I ain't never sat a horse, an' bein' jounced about in a carriage for days doesnae sound like much fun."

Seamidh looked startled. "You've never been on a horse?"

Caoilainn raised an eyebrow at him. "Am I dressed like some fine lady? Nay, I havenae sat a horse, nor a pony neither! Me own grandpapa marched off tae war on his own two feet, on account o' his lord dinnae hae enough beasts tae spare for a' th' men tae ride. An' as for me da..." She gave a derisive snort. "If he had two coins tae rub together, he spent it on drink or doxies, damn his wastrel hide, wi' hardly any left tae spare for his wife an' bairns, far less a beast tae feed!" She eyed her suitor. "If ye're courtin' me serious, Seamidh, ye need tae know I'll no' stand for a man wha cannae keep his pocket filled, his tankard dry, an' his trews up, ye hear?"

His lips twitched. "Will you settle for a man who can keep his pocket filled, his tankard only occasionally refilled, and his trews up until he gets home to his wife?"

"I'm serious, Seamidh!" Despite her indignant tone, she giggled slightly.

"Aye, so am I!" His eyes twinkled down at her. "I'll not wrong you, Caoilainn lass. But I like an ale or two at the end of a day, and I'm hoping for a warm wife to come home to, not a nun." He grinned. "And if you want to see what Ballymar looks like on horseback, maybe I can take you out riding on your next half-day. If you'll have me, you'll be a knight's lady someday, after all, so it's time you learned something of horses."

The girl looked leery. "I dinnae think so. They're rather high, an' wha' if it spooks?"

"You can hold me tight around the waist, then, and we'll go slowly. Trust me?"

She considered him a long moment. "I suppose."

He leaned in to kiss her. "That's my brave lass."

#

_ February 25_

_ Ballymar Castle solar_

Dhugal turned the wooden knight in his hands, a look of consternation on his face, before glancing back at Mikhail. "I like the blue and gold colors," he began, carefully keeping his voice even. "Those are meant to represent Brendan, aye?"

"Yes, Father McLain."

The Duke's lips twitched slightly at the boy's latest attempt to find a form of address for his new step-father that he was comfortable with. At least he was no longer using the formal title 'Your Grace' all the time now, though he hadn't brought himself to use Duncan Michael's much more casual 'Da' either. Unfortunately this latest form of address made him sound rather priestly, which was a bit jarring considering that he'd just spent the morning awakening the boy's mother in a manner most unfitting for clergy. He'd have to see if he could steer the boy into trying some other form of address for him that wouldn't make him sound like some reprobate priest!

But there were more urgent matters to deal with at the moment. "I can understand that you are wishing to honor the present Earl of Marley. Brendan is a fine man; I've known him since he was a page in Duke Alaric's service. But there's a problem with using the Marley arms on your knight's shield, son."

Mikhail's face grew mutinous, the young features beginning to scowl. "But he's Sir Brendan! That's what he'd carry!"

"Aye, it is, if this were the _real_ Brendan," Dhugal agreed. "But see, that's part of the problem right there. The Marley arms belong to Brendan Coris now, and to him alone. No one else has the right to wear them save for the Earl of Marley." An unwelcome thought occurred to him. "Did you ask Brendan if you could use his arms on your knight's shield?"

Mikhail looked downcast. "No, my lord father."

Dhugal suppressed a sigh of relief. "Well, then, there's nothing at all wrong with honoring Brendan by painting your knight in his colors, just so long as you don't also have him carrying the Marley shield." He paused, weighing the best way to explain the problem to the young boy. "You see, son, it's not simply the young Earl who might be offended. I'm sure Brendan would be flattered by your desire to pattern your wooden knight more fully after him. But do you know who once bore those particular arms before Brendan did?"

Mikhail looked confused. "No."

"Well, he inherited his title in just the same way that Duncan Michael will someday inherit mine. When you spent the day with Earl Brendan, did you two talk about his papa?"

"Oh." The brown eyes looked troubled. "A little bit. His papa did bad things too."

Dhugal nodded. "Yes. The late Earl of Marley—Bran Coris, not his son Brendan—did some very bad things, and unfortunately he did many of them to the fighting men of Cassan and of Kierney. A great many families here in Cassan lost their papas and grandpapas and husbands and brothers because of what Bran Coris did when he was bearing those Marley arms. So, you see, some of those people might not understand that it's Brendan you're wishing to honor by painting your knight that way. They'll only see the shield of Marley, and it will bring back bad memories. And I know you wouldn't wish to make anyone feel bad, would you?"

The boy's lower lip jutted out slightly, but he shook his head.

"Here's what I think you should do," Dhugal said, wrapping a comforting arm around the boy. "Keep the blue and gold colors for your knight's clothing, if you wish. When Brendan sees it, he'll know you mean to honor him, and _you'll_ know also, even if not everyone does. There might come a time someday, once Brendan has become better known for his own loyalty to King and Kingdom, when the Marley arms will be more welcome in Cassan again and not associated any longer with his father's treachery. But for now, why don't you paint your knight's shield in Cassan's colors?" He smiled. "We also use blue as our dominant color, so it will go quite nicely with 'Sir Brendan's' surcoat and armor. And while painting my own Ducal arms on it wouldn't be technically correct either, I'm sure seeing the roses and the sleeping lion of Cassan on your knight's shield would bring a smile to our loyal Cassani armsmen's faces." He ruffled the boy's hair. "Especially if you're planning to be a hero in my service someday."

Mikhail thought about the idea. "I don't know how to paint a lion," he finally said.

"That's all right. I could help you with that part," the Duke offered.

Mikhail thought some more. "Does it have to have roses on it? They're a bit girly."

Dhugal forced back a grin. "No, it needn't have roses on it."

Mikhail nodded. "That's all right then, I suppose." He gave his toy a resigned sigh. "I don't guess Sir Brendan would mind a sleeping lion, as long as it's a boy. Girls can't go to war, you know."

#

_ March 5_

_ Ballymar Castle Great Hall_

"Your Grace, the dowager duchess Margaret was stricken by some sort of an apoplexy yesterday evening. She is weakened by a paralysis on one side of her face and body, but seemed stable enough when I started my journey here, my lord. Her steward thought you ought to be informed."

Dhugal nodded gravely at the messenger from Kierney. "Rightly so." He glanced at Mirjana. "I should go check on her."

His Duchess nodded. "Yes. And you should probably bring her back here after, if she is willing and if it's safe to move her. Such paralytic fits sometimes happen in series, so it would be best if she could be closer by for a while until we're sure she'll not suffer a relapse." She frowned in thought. "Should I order a carriage readied?"

"No, I'll make faster time without one. She has one in Kierney that I've reserved for her use; we can use that one if she's willing to be brought back here."

"Will you be setting forth tonight or in the morning?" his wife asked.

Dhugal considered the question. The sun had set an hour before, and the dangers of travel grew tenfold during the night hours. "You say Duchess Margaret's condition had stabilized before you left Kierney?" he asked the messenger, who nodded in affirmation. "All right, then; if we leave in the morning, that will give my retinue a bit more time to make ready, and...Oh, damn!" The duke glanced at his duchess, then turned to the messenger. "I will have need of your further services, I'm afraid. I need you to deliver a message to our seneschal, who is currently at his own manor at Grangegaeth. Fortunately, you shan't have to ride far in the dark; you should be able to make it there in just under an hour. I'll arrange for you to have a fresh horse if you require one. Wait here." He stood, glancing at Mirjana and signaling her to follow him into the small withdrawing room close by their dais.

Closing the door firmly behind them, he took her hands in his. "I shall have to send to Grangegaeth for either Deveril or Daivi to take charge of matters here in my absence. I apologize, Mirjana; I hope you understand this is not due to any lack of trust or faith in you on my part."

Her ebony lashes swept downwards. "I understand, my lord. Duchess Richenda warned me that I must not expect otherwise, under our circumstances, and Lord Deasun's recent actions against me have made it quite clear how many of our people still feel about me. Do as you must."

"Mirjana...I'm sure they won't hold themselves against you forever. I shall give you your rightful due as my Duchess of Cassan as soon as that becomes possible."

She lifted her clear green gaze to his. "I believe that you mean that. It is enough for me that _you_ trust me, even if others do not."

Dhugal lifted her hands to his lips, planting a kiss on each set of fingertips. "Thank you for understanding. I need to go up and write that message to Deveril. Would you please go back out and tell the messenger from Kierney that I shall have it ready for him directly?"

"I shall, my lord."

#

_ March 6_

_ Ballymar Castle inner bailey_

"Will you be gone long, Father?" Mikhail looked up at the Duke his stepfather, whom he'd followed out to the stables once Dhugal had taken his leave of the children after breakfast.

Dhugal breathed an inner sigh of relief, glad to have been demoted from priestly status. "That all depends on what I discover when I arrive at Kierney, son. But I hope to return here within the week, assuming all goes well."

His stepson looked relieved. "Then you'll be back in time for St. Joseph's Day?"

"Oh, certainly! That's not until mid-month. The nineteenth, I believe. Why?"

Mikhail gave him a sunny grin. "Because I'll be five on St. Joseph's Day!"

"Ah, will you now?" Dhugal smiled. "Well, I shall have to think of some suitable way to celebrate such an important birthday, then. You'll have half a decade of years behind you, after all."

The boy looked puzzled. "What's a decade?"

Dhugal chuckled. "Ten years. You'll be half of ten."

Mikhail tilted his head consideringly. "I shall, shan't I? Ten's an awful lot."

Dhugal grinned. "It is, isn't it? And just think, in just five years after that, you'll be fifteen and a man grown, the same age that your friend the Earl of Marley is now, only by then of course he'll have been 'Sir Brendan' in truth for quite some time. And while _you'll_ just be entering young manhood, he'll already have achieved a quarter of a century. That's _my_ age."

The lad looked awestruck. "That's _old_!"

Dhugal laughed. "Oh, not so very old as all that." He bent to embrace the child. "Be a good lad for your mother, aye?"

"Aye, Father."

"And you'll keep a good eye on Duncan Michael and Trina for me, I hope?"

Mikhail snorted. "Yes, but Trina doesn't do much yet except for crawl about and chew on her coral bauble."

"Then that should make your life easy, now shouldn't it?" Dhugal winked at him and stood, motioning to his groom. The man led a saddled horse over to the Duke, who mounted, then looked over his shoulder at the small retinue assembled to accompany him to Kierney. He glanced back down at the young lad. "Go on back inside now, son, before you catch a chill. I'll see you in a week's time, if not before."

"Aye, Father!" Mikhail smiled happily, sketching him a bow before scurrying back into the Great Hall. The Duke chuckled and led his men past the gatehouse and onto the road for Kierney.

#

_ March 7_

_ Ballymar Castle_

Caoilainn woke up with a sudden start, her cheeks damp and her pillow drenched with tears. She had the vaguest fleeting impression of danger, darkness or flames—that agonizing choice again—and a sense of suffocation as she came up flailing from the dream, like a swimmer nearly swept away by a fierce undertow gasping fiercely for breath. But once she gained full wakefulness, she could remember no more of the vision. She sobbed in helpless fury until she was spent, then drifted off again, her last waking thought being a hope that the vision would return in some more coherent form, but instead she knew nothing more until the morning light.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

_ March 9, 1133_

_ Ballymar Castle nursery, Cassan_

"I got th' penny! I got th' penny!" Duncan Michael displayed the coin proudly on his upturned palm. From Mirjana's lap, Trina grinned uncomprehendingly, her moist lips and round cheeks dotted with golden crumbs.

Mirjana smiled indulgently, reaching across to wipe crumbs of honey cake off the ducal heir's chin. "Oh, quite well done, sweeting! And do you know what that means?"

The three-year-old frowned, trying to remember the tradition. "It means I rich now?"

Ailidh and Mirjana both laughed. "Well, I suppose a penny is quite a fortune for a lad your age," Ailidh assured. "But no, it simply means you'll be wealthy someday. Or that's what they say, anyway." Ailidh handed a small portion of the crumbly cake to her youngest son, in whose honor they were enjoying the mid-afternoon snack.

"Is Jarrett _finally_ going to start getting interesting now that he's a year old, Ma?" Ciaran asked, setting the mothers to giggling again.

"Oh, he'll be walking any day now, I'll warrant," Ailidh warned her eldest son, "and you'll soon have such trouble keeping up with him, you're likely to wish he'd get boring again."

As if agreeing, Jarrett bounced happily on Ailidh's lap, his chubby hand accidentally striking the edge of the wooden trencher before him. The rest of the cake went catapulting onto Aine Rose's trencher, who grabbed it greedily and started to stuff it into her mouth before her mother intercepted the motion with a stern look. The MacArdry lass returned half the treat to her baby brother's trencher, a bit worse for wear.

"Will I get honey cake on my birthday too?" Mikhail asked hopefully.

"Oh, I think perhaps that could be arranged," his mother assured him with a smile.

"And can I get the penny next time?" he asked.

"Well, that's up to the whims of fate, I'm afraid," Mirjana said. "Remember, Duncan Michael didn't know he was going to find the penny today any more than the rest of us did. The surprise is part of the fun, my love."

He frowned. "But what if I swallow it? Will I grow up wealthy, or will all my wealth go to the gong-farmer who cleans out the garderobe cesspit and finds it?"

Ailidh whooped with laughter. Mirjana grinned. "That's why we let you crumble your cake first; so you _won't _accidentally swallow the coin if it's in your slice!"

#

_ March 11_

_ Ballymar Castle solar_

"How is Lady Mhairi feeling?" Mirjana looked up in concern from her embroidery.

"Well, she's not very feverish, thank heavens, but she's coughing and sneezing up a right storm whenever she can force herself to stay awake," Ailidh informed the duchess. "I've instructed the chambermaids to put her up in one of the empty upstairs bedchambers for now so she can recover in peace outside of the nursery. I've got Nurse Baillie tending to the younger bairns and Nurse Maeve has the older lads playing downstairs in the Great Hall. Aine Rose began sneezing a bit last night, so I'm afraid she's caught the contagion as well, but I'm thinking if we can keep the healthier children away from her and Mhairi, we can avoid it spreading to them."

"Yes, that's a good idea. Who is tending to Aine Rose now, then, if Baillie is with the younger children and the lads are with Maeve?"

"Oh, she's asleep in my own chamber for the moment. Jass is keeping an eye on her until she wakes, then I suppose it will be my turn, once she's up and fussing for her Ma."

Mirjana gave her a sympathetic smile. "Oh, belike." She added a few stitches to her embroidery. "I suppose you could bring her up here once she wakens. It's quiet enough, and I don't mind a little fussing."

"Oh, I think not!" Ailidh raised an auburn eyebrow at her. "Mirjana, you've a baby to consider. Dhugal would hardly thank me for exposing you to a contagion."

"From the sound of it, it's mild enough. Doubtless it's little more than a winter cold."

"Aye, it's no fever-flux to be sure, but given how his first duchess died, do you really think he'd want to take any risks with you?" Ailidh said tartly.

"I...hadn't thought of that." Mirjana bit her lip, studiously avoiding Ailidh's eyes. "But that's different. He loved her."

"Aye? Well, so he did, but that's not to say he thinks _you're_ to be used and tossed like yesterday's bathwater!" The Transha woman's voice softened slightly at the duchess's shocked expression. "You've been married to the man for barely three months, and hardly had a chance to get to know each other in the months before that. Love needs some time to grow. Just give him a bit more time."

Mirjana took a few more careful stitches. "What was she like? He hardly speaks of her, at least not to me." She thought of the portrait hanging in the guest bedchamber she'd slept in during her first nights at Ballymar. "I know she was beautiful."

"Oh, aye. And quite talented, and blood-kin to royalty, just as you are. Mirjana, don't go comparing; that way only leads to madness." Ailidh favored Dhugal's wife with a wry smile.

"I suppose you're right." The duke's second duchess sighed.

#

_ March 11_

_ Ballymar Castle_

"Is she asleep?" Ciaran peered curiously at Nurse Maeve. The two younger boys with him paused in their mock swordfight to wander over. Seeing the woman's closed eyes and slightly gaping mouth as she slumped against the withdrawing room wall, they giggled.

"Silly nurse!" Mikhail whispered. "It's after naptime!" He glanced at Ciaran worriedly. "You don't think she'll make _us_ sleep again too, will she?"

A quiet snore turned into a cough. The nurse stirred, but settled back into her slumber after a brief moment.

"I hope no'," Ciaran whispered back. "Maybe if we let her sleep, she'll no' make us take another nap or gae back upstairs wi' th' weans." His eyes lit up. "Hey, wannae gae adventurin'?"

Mikhail's eyes reflected the same excitement. "I know…we could go 'xploring!"

Duncan Michael looked at the older two boys uncertainly. "What's sploring?"

"It's when ye wander around an' see where everythin' is," Ciaran told him. "An' ye're s'posed tae make a map, I think. Or maybe tha's pirates?" Jass's lad looked uncertain.

"We could be pirates," Mikhail assured him. "We just have to be the good kind."

"Can I be a good pirate too?" Duncan Michael asked.

"Aye, matey!" Ciaran gave the three-year-old a wink and a nod. "Avast an'…other stuff. C'mon, let's gae down tae th' undercroft."

Mikhail frowned. "It's dark in the undercroft."

"No' if we bring some lit rushes wi' us. Pirates would, ye know."

The Torenthi lad perked up again. "I suppose they would!" He picked up a handful of dipped rushes, handing a few to Ciaran, then lit one of his in the fireplace.

Duncan Michael watched in awe. "Can I have one?"

"No, you're too little. I'm almost five." Seeing the youngest boy's face start to fall, Mikhail amended his statement. "You might burn yourself if you try to carry one while walking, but when we get to a stopping place, I'll let you hold mine for a moment, all right? Anyway, _you_ get to be the lookout!" He gave Ciaran a conspiratorial wink.

"What's a lookout?" Duncan Michael asked.

"Tha' means ye keep peekin' behin' us an' make sure Nurse Maeve's no' woke up yet," Ciaran whispered. "It's an important job, th' lookout. Ye dinnae want tae end up havin' tae go back up tae tha' ol' borin' nursery again, aye?" At Duncan Michael's head shake, he nodded in satisfaction, lighting a rushlight of his own. "A' right, then, it's on tae th' pillagin' an' th' radishin'."

Mikhail followed after Jass's long-legged six-year-old. "What's radishing?"

The Transha lad shrugged. "Somethin' tae do wi' fair maidens, but we dinnae hae Aine Rose wi' us, sae we can jus' stick tae th' pillagin', I s'pose. We can try radishin' once radishes come back intae season."

The three boys ventured down the stairs to the undercroft level, Duncan Michael taking the rear, clutching the banister as he tried to descend down the steep stone spiral while casting glances over his shoulder every few seconds. "I'm not keen on radishes anyway," Mikhail declared.

Their explorations took them to the storage rooms beneath the Ballymar Great Hall. Ciaran looked around at the first cavernous room, trying to decide which trunk or chest to explore first. His gaze landed on a familiar doorway down a short corridor. "I know…let's try tae go tae Rhemuth! It's warmer there; maybe th' snow's melted in th' parklands a'ready!" He opened the door to the Transfer Portal chamber. With unerring instinct, all three Deryni boys found the charged Portal stone, feeling the tingle beneath their feet, but nothing happened.

Ciaran frowned. "It's nae workin'."

Mikhail looked lost in thought. "Maybe you have to think of Rhemuth real hard or something."

"Tha' might be it." Ciaran screwed up his face, thinking of Rhemuth as hard as he could, and muttered "Here, Rhemuth! Heeere, Rhemuth!"

Mikhail broke into giggles. "It's not a hound pup, Ciaran!"

Duncan Michael, his attention wandering, moved back towards the doorway, stopping there as he saw that the undercroft was quite dark, since the lighted rushes were behind him now, still in the firm grasps of his companions. "What's down that way?" he asked, pointing off into the darkness.

The older boys left off their experimentation with the Transfer Portal to investigate. "Oh, good job!" Ciaran praised the youngest boy. "It's another corridor. Let's hae a look." He and Mikhail explored the short passage, but it came to an abrupt end at a thick iron-bound wooden door with an imposing lock.

"Well, tha's out then," Ciaran grumbled.

"Wait a moment," Mikhail mused. "I saw my Mama open a locked chest once when she'd lost the key. It's a Deryni trick, and we're Deryni. Maybe we can try it?"

"Do ye know how she did it, though?" Ciaran asked.

Mikhail shrugged. "No, Mama hasn't teached me Deryni stuff yet. But Duncan Michael can teach fish how to do tricks; maybe _he_ can figure it out." He looked at his little stepbrother expectantly. "Can you?"

Duncan Michael looked up at what, to his shorter perspective, looked like a giant door. He set both chubby hands on the lock, thought really hard, then said, "Maybe you could use that big key hanging up on the wall!"

Both older boys turned astonished eyes up in the direction of Duncan Michael's gaze. Sure enough, there hung a large iron key. Unfortunately it was beyond even Ciaran's highest reach. The three lads pondered their dilemma. At last, Mikhail's eyes lit up.

"Duncan Michael, would you like to hold the rushlights now?"

At his eager nod, Mikhail handed his light to the toddler, showing him how to hold the lit end at an angle away from himself so that he wouldn't get burned. "Now, you've got to pay close attention to that glowy end, and don't let it touch anything, or we might start a fire. All right?"

Duncan Michael nodded solemnly, standing proudly as he took on this new responsibility. Mikhail motioned to Ciaran to hand Duncan Michael his rushlight as well. "All right, Ciaran. I need a hand up the same way that Father or Sir Jass gives you a hand up to mount a pony."

"Aye, a' right!" Ciaran beamed as Mikhail's plan became clear. He obliged, boosting the smaller boy up until his fingertips brushed the key. Mikhail gave it a nudge, and it fell from its peg to the stone floor below with a clatter.

All three boys held their breaths, fearing that some wandering guard or manservant might have heard their noise, but no one came to investigate. After a minute, Ciaran fitted the key to the lock, giving it a turn. The tumblers inside clicked into position, and with all three lads pushing on the door, it slowly swung open.

Duncan Michael stepped forward, holding the rushlights aloft. All three boys gaped at the wondrous sight spreading out before them.

#

_ March 11_

_ Ballymar Caverns_

"It's a pirate cave!" Ciaran stared out at the untold wealth before them. Well, perhaps not wealth exactly—it was more like an assortment of old, broken casks, chests, and wooden pallets scattered here and there, along with other discarded detritus of castle life. Still, to three young boys it all looked like treasure. But more exciting than those finds was the natural cavern that held them, its mineral walls glistening faintly in the dim rushlight, fascinating the youngsters with its stone columns and curtains and the sharp projections of damp stone looming overhead and jutting up here and there from the rock floor below.

Mikhail frowned as he glanced at their dying rushlights. He held out one of his spare rushes, holding the tip of it to one of the glowing ends of the much shorter reeds Duncan Michael held. Once the new rushlight flared to life, Mikhail handed it to Ciaran and lit another, then took the nearly spent rushes away from his younger stepbrother. "You did a good job," he said, "but they're getting too short for you to hold safely now." He blew the shorter rushes out then glanced around the cavern. "Ciaran, do you see a torch anywhere?"

After a moment, the oldest boy spotted one. "Up there!" He held his rush light aloft, lighting a torch on the stone wall the doorway was set into. The circle of light created by the torch was much brighter than the feeble light created by their rushes, and the far side of the cavern became visible. Along the wall, a swift current ran towards some unseen destination.

Ciaran gave a satisfied nod. "A' right, lads, let's put out th' rushlights an' save them for th' trip back." Mikhail nodded agreement, and the boys put out their newly-lit rushes, laying them in a neat pile next to the doorway. Duncan Michael stepped forward into the circle of the torch's glow, moving to the other side of the lit area and gazing in fascination at the water. "Here, fishies!" he said, holding out a hand over the underground stream.

"Dinnae fall in, Duncan Michael!" Ciaran cautioned. "Mikhail, ye'd best gae keep an eye on him. I'll build us a pirate hideout."

"I don't think there _are_ fish underground," Mikhail said as he went to care for his stepbrother, "but if you see any, let's catch one. I'm hungry." He grinned. "We can start a bonfire and roast it!"

#

Nurse Maeve woke up with a start. Her neck felt stiff from leaning against the cold stone wall of the withdrawing room, and her face felt flushed and feverish. She looked around the room for her young charges, intending to bring them back upstairs to the nursery for Nurse Baillie to look after, but the boys were nowhere in sight.

She frowned. Surely, if either Baillie or Lady Ailidh had come down to fetch the lads, they would have noticed her asleep and would have awakened her and sent her off to bed, wouldn't they? With a sharp censure for falling asleep on the job, doubtless. Her heart sank. No, it was more likely the boys had wandered off. She could not have been asleep for long, though, surely, or they would certainly have been missed, and someone would have come looking for her and would have discovered her there. The nursemaid stood, steadying herself against the fireplace mantel as a dizzy spell nearly sent her reeling. If she'd only been asleep for a few minutes, the lads couldn't have got far. She'd just fetch them back, take them upstairs to Baillie, then be off to visit the duke's physician.

The dizzy spell passed. Nurse Maeve peered into the Great Hall, hoping to spot the boys there, but the large chamber was empty. She sighed, trying to imagine where three active little boys would have wandered off to. The stables, most likely. The lads were pony-mad. She hugged herself for warmth as a shiver coursed through her and headed out of the castle keep into the inner bailey.

#

"I wonder what's down that river?" Mikhail asked no one in particular, gazing downstream at where the current disappeared around a bend.

"We could 'xplore it, but we'd need a pirate ship," Ciaran said. The boys looked around the cavern, but no one had obligingly left a ship down there. There was, however, what appeared to be some sort of wooden hand-cart, one handle broken about midway down, and sporting a broken wheel. If one were to look it at just right, it might look almost ship-like.

"Duncan Michael, come help us with this," the older boys urged. The younger boy left off trying to mind-call fish and went to assist them in their efforts to half roll, half shove the cart towards the stream's edge. They got the front end of the cart partially down a shallow slope when Ciaran thought of a new problem.

"Oh, wait...we havenae any sails or oars!" He glanced behind them at the pile of discards. "I see a board we can use. I'll gae fetch it." He turned, headed back towards the entrance to the castle.

Mikhail gave Duncan Michael a boost into their new 'ship,' then clambered up after him. Both boys turned to watch Ciaran as he tugged at the board, trying to dislodge it from the pile of other discards atop it. At last he worked it free, raising it victoriously and turning to show it to his friends.

The two boys on the cart grinned, jumping for joy in a victory dance. The cart slipped further into the water, then with a lurch rolled completely in, stopping about a yard from the water's edge.

Ciaran stared at them in consternation. "Hey, wait f'r me!"

The fast flowing water slammed into the side of the cart. Slowly, it began to move, inching sideways at first, then as it edged into deeper water, beginning to half float, half bump across the rocky stream bottom, moving downstream.

Mikhail felt the first stirrings of panic. "We can't stop it!"

Duncan Michael, too young to understand what was happening, smiled and waved at Ciaran.

Ciaran stretched the board as far as it could reach, hoping that maybe Mikhail could catch hold of it, could think of some way to use it to row the cart back to shore or at least stop its progress, but the gap between them was already too wide.

Duncan Michael looked down with a sudden frown. "My feet are wet. Are pirate ships s'posed to leak?"

Mikhail bit his lip, on the verge of tears. "Do you know how to swim yet, Duncan Michael?"

His little stepbrother looked up at him with trusting green eyes. "No."

Mikhail's panic grew. "Neither do I. Ciaran...I think you'd best fetch your Da!"

#

Caoilainn was hemming one of the duchess's gowns when the premonition flashed before her. There was dim light, fading in the distance to darkness, and the sounds of flowing water. The sounds of crying, shouts and a bustle of activity, a quick scream, and then nothing but wetness and bone-chilling cold, a growing roar in the distance, and a piercing wail, suddenly silenced.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

_ March 11, 1133_

_ Ballymar Castle_

"Wha' d'ye mean, ye've lost 'em?" Jass stared at Nurse Maeve in shock. "How in th' bloody hell d'ye lose three rowdy lads wi' voices loud enough tae wake th' dead? Does it take a special kind o' stupid, lass?"

The junior nursemaid stood before the father of the eldest of those missing lads, tears streaming down her fever-flushed cheeks. "I'm sorry! I just felt a wave o' tired come o'er me a' sudden-like, an' thought I'd hae a bit o' a sit-down for just a wee moment, an' th' next thing I knew, th' room was quiet an' th' lads had slipped off! I ran straight out tae th' stables, figurin' they'd be there, but none o' th' grooms or stable lads hae seen 'em since breakfast. They wasnae in th' kitchen neither, sae after tha', I came straight here." She sobbed. "I never meant tae fall asleep!"

The Transha man approached the serving woman, who quailed as he raised a hand towards her face, though she relaxed slightly as he merely touched her forehead with the back of it rather than delivering the sharp blow she'd been expecting. He muttered a blistering oath, dropping his hand. "Ye're feverish, Maeve. Go move yer pallet up tae Mhairi's sick-chamber; I'll let Ailidh know wha's happened." He gave an explosive sigh, adding sharply, "I assume th' stable lads are still searchin'?"

"Aye, m'lord."

"A' right. They'll doubtless turn up soon, probably someplace where they've nae business bein'. Get upstairs, Maeve." He turned on his heel, heading upstairs to inform both the Duchess and his wife of this new development.

#

Mirjana stared at her tiring maid in horror. "Caoilainn, show me this vision."

The girl obeyed, standing meekly before her mistress and allowing her to peek into her memory of her latest premonition. Mirjana absorbed the brief torrent of sights, sounds, and other sensations in growing bewilderment. "But...what could this mean?" she pondered aloud.

Sir Jass burst into the solar. "Mirjana, we've go' a problem. Nurse Maeve's ta'en ill an' fell asleep on th' job, an' now th' lads hae gone missin'. I'm off tae look..." He broke off, noticing her sudden pallor. "Oh, Jesú! Wha' is it?" He glanced at Caoilainn, who burst into tears.

Reaching for Jass's hand, Mirjana sent him the vision she'd just gleaned from Caoilainn's mind. "Does that mean anything to you?" she asked urgently.

Darkness. Cold. The sound of rushing water. Jass paled. "It might. I cannae see how they'd even get in there, but..."

The sound of pounding footsteps approached from down the corridor. "Da! Da! Mikhail an' Duncan Michael's got stuck in a ship down in some pirate caves, an' it's gone floatin' off..."

The whisky-colored eyes widened. "Bloody hell!" The Transha man tore off down the corridor, shouting out to other household staff for aid along the way, as the frantic duchess followed close behind.

#

The makeshift pirate ship floated only a short distance before coming up hard against an outcropping of limestone damming nearly half the stream's flow. The impact knocked both boys to the floor of the cart, now quite damp from water streaming in between planks never meant to hold water out, although with the sudden influx of water the wood had grown damp enough to swell slightly, reducing the amount of water continuing to enter their vessel from a steady flow to a much slower trickle.

The boys scrambled to their feet. Mikhail moved to the side of the cart that rested alongside the limestone barrier, hoping it might prove to be a sturdier surface for them to take refuge on, but the damp rock was too slanted and slippery for him to climb up. The top felt somewhat flat, though. It was just barely above the level of his eyes, but running his small hands over its surface, he thought it felt rather like a rough shelf.

Rocks, Mikhail knew, did not float. If he could get his little stepbrother onto that stone ledge, at least one of them would be safe and, if not dry, at least in less danger from the rushing current even now buffeting their flimsy craft and threatening to send it on its way downstream again. "Duncan Michael, if I lift you up, do you think you can climb up on the big rock?"

The smaller child looked up at the limestone barrier. "I can try."

"Good lad." He bent to give his stepbrother a leg up the way Ciaran had done for him earlier when they were reaching for the door key.

#

"We'll need several lengths of rope," Lord Daivi said as soon as he heard the commotion and discovered what had happened and where the boys were believed to have gone. "And I'll order the water gate lowered at once!" The seneschal's heir rushed off to supervise this task, bellowing orders to the staff, who rushed in various directions to comply with the instructions they'd just been given. Sir Jass continued on through the undercroft, quite a few of the Cassani retainers at his heels now, Mirjana struggling to keep pace with him.

"What's the water gate?" she asked as they approached the door standing open at the end of the short corridor on the far end of the undercroft.

Jass looked grim. "There's an underground stream tha' flows through a series o' limestone caverns in th' bluff beneath th' Castle. Th' source o' th' stream is deep underground—nae one really knows where it originates from—but it empties out just a few hundred yards north o' here through a fissure in th' rock about twenty yards above th' sea." He paused at the open door, casting a frantic glance around the cavern. "There's a waterfall tha' plunges in a sheer drop straight onto th' rocky shore below. One would be an absolute fool tae try tae gain entry intae th' Castle by climbing up th' cliffside an' entering through tha' fissure, but just as a safeguard we lower an iron grille tae block it durin' wartime. It still lets th' water out, o'course, but would keep enemy soldiers from coming in through tha' route if any were suicidal enough tae try." He swallowed hard. "An' if th' lads hae floated tha' far downstream, they ought tae fetch against it instead o' bein' swept out onto th' rocks below. Though let's pray they'll no' make it tha' far." He didn't bother to add that, if they did, they most likely would die from the force of the water battering them against the grate, if they hadn't already drowned from being pulled under the raging current. The only useful purpose closing the water gate would serve would be easier retrieval of dead bodies, not living children.

Mirjana raised her hand, summoning up handfire, and gave the rapid stream a sweeping glance. A flurry of movement at the far end of her sphere of vision caught her eye. "I think I might have spotted them." She raised her skirts, running towards the stream's edge to get a closer look.

#

Duncan Michael struggled to clamber up to the top of the rock once Mikhail had boosted him up, but he wasn't quite strong enough to pull himself up the last few inches needed. Mikhail finally had to lower him back into the cart, breathing heavily.

"Give me just a bit; we'll try again."

There was a sudden clamor of voices above the sound of the rushing water, and a quick flash of light that rendered the dim cavern noticeably brighter. The boys turned to look.

"Mama Miri!" Duncan Michael cried out, overjoyed.

#

"Yer Grace, wait!" Jass took after her, the Cassani men accompanying him. "Dinnae get too close; th' water's treacherous an' ye'll be swept along wi' it in those skirts. Daivi'll be sendin' th' ropes down directly." He spotted the wrecked cart across the large space and his hopes spiraled skyward briefly as he realized that both boys were still alive and accounted for, though they sank again moments afterward as he realized the inherent difficulties of getting to them quickly across the fast-flowing current.

Mirjana's eyes took in her surroundings, missing nothing. "The water seems fairly shallow. How deep is it where the boys are, do you know?"

"No' very; just a wee bit over my head on tha' side, as I recall, but th' bottom's slick an' th' current's sae strong it's nae easy tae swim against it. Even wi' a rope tied aroun' a man's waist, wadin' across an' back will be a risk, an' th' last few feet will tak' a bit o' swimmin'."

A commotion behind them signaled the approach of more men, carrying torches and large coils of rope. Lord Daivi accompanied them. "We've got the gate lowered, Your Grace," he assured Mirjana with a voice that projected confidence, although the expression in his eyes gave away his deeper misgivings. "Have you seen any sign of the lads?"

Mirjana pointed across the cavern. Lord Daivi caught sight of the ducal heir beside his stepbrother in the waterlogged cart and turned pale.

#

The Cassani men began to uncoil the ropes, tying the lengths around their waists, linking one man to the next to form a sort of human chain. Mirjana also picked up an end of rope, pulling the rear hem of her skirt up over the front of it and tucking it into her belt to create makeshift trousers, beginning to tie the rope around her waist to secure the garment in place.

Jass lay a hand on her wrist. "Yer Grace, it's far too dangerous for ye tae join us..."

Her eyes blazed up at him. "Those are my sons out there!"

#

The water continued battering at the old cart. It creaked and groaned under the onslaught, beginning to slip a bit towards the end of the rock barrier around which the stream's flow circled. Mikhail grew anxious as the waterlogged cart shuddered beneath his feet.

He looked down at Duncan Michael. "Brother, we need to try again," he said, working hard to keep his voice cheerful to avoid scaring the younger child. "Let's see if we can do it this time."

#

Mirjana watched from the far shore as her son hoisted her husband's child high, the toddler's hands scrambling for purchase on the slippery rock outcropping. Her heart lifted as she realized what Mikhail was doing. The rock ledge would certainly be a less precarious place for the boys to rest while they awaited rescue. Duncan Michael finally managed to gain enough traction to scramble up to the safety of the stone ledge. Behind her, Mirjana was dimly aware of the cheers of the Cassani men as they too noticed what had happened.

#

With Duncan Michael's ascent to safety, the load in the cart lightened, making it more buoyant. It began to drift along the rocky ledge towards the unimpeded part of the stream. Mikhail looked up at his little brother, tears filling his eyes.

Duncan Michael, looking worried, reached a hand down to Mikhail, but the older boy shook his head. "Hold on tight, Duncan Michael. Mama's coming."

#

Mirjana saw the cart begin to float again, saw it bump against the rock once...twice. She bit back a scream, wading out with fierce determination into the icy cold torrent instead.

#

"Sweet Jesú, m'Lady, ye cannae!" Jass yelled, but it was of no use. He waded out after her, catching hold of the loose end of the rope she'd secured around her waist, hoping to haul her back out, but her desperation to reach her sons had given her added strength. He felt a sharp tug on his own waist, and realized someone behind him had fastened on to him in the same way he'd reached out to secure the duchess.

"Damn it a', woman, Dhugal will hae me hide f'r this!" he muttered as he fought to maintain his footing on the slippery limestone beneath the surface of the rushing water.

#

The makeshift boat jounced its way almost to the end of the outcropping. The water pounding on the wooden sides of the cart began to tear it apart, but Mikhail's panicked gaze noted that the rock ledge was much lower here than it had been at the spot where he'd lifted Duncan Michael onto it. He risked a leap, fingertips scrambling for something to grab hold of. One hand closed around something, and he pulled himself up, reaching farther forward with the other hand, finding a small crack to cling to there. Hand over hand he dragged himself to the top of the rock as the cart fell apart beneath his feet and continued its journey into the darker recess beyond the obstruction.

#

Mirjana initial horror at seeing the cart begin to break apart was followed immediately by profound relief as she watched Mikhail pull himself up onto the stone ledge. Behind her, cheers erupted. Seeing both boys in relative safety now, she risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Behind Jass was a line of retainers, tied one to another, reaching beyond the water's edge and continuing on the damp but far drier cavern floor. Now that she felt both boys were reasonably safe, she took a moment to assess the situation. As she paused, Jass took the opportunity to tie the free end of her rope around his own waist, thus securing Mirjana to himself.

"Mama," Mikhail called out to her over the sound of the water, "get Duncan Michael. He's scared."

The sound of his voice told her that Mikhail was frightened also, but he seemed to have a firm purchase on the rocks beneath him now. Duncan Michael was slightly closer, if perhaps a bit harder to reach, being a little higher up, but the portion of outcropping he lay upon had a slope to its side, and Mirjana worried that if he should somehow slide back off and into the water again, he'd be swept away before he could be retrieved.

As if divining her thoughts, Jass shouted behind her, "It would be safest if we can get tae one lad at a time an' pass him up th' line tae th' shore."

Mirjana met her son's gaze, giving him an encouraging smile. "You hold on tight, my love! We're almost there!" She took another step forward, the water reaching to her chin now. The mother faltered only briefly, then began to swim the final distance, praying she hadn't forgotten the strokes she'd learned years before as a young child before a changing body and new rules of propriety had prevented her from being allowed to swim with her childhood friends any longer. The water immediately pulled harder at her, but it was drawing her even closer to the part of the stone barrier she wished to draw near to, so she gave in to the current, allowing it to drag her closer to where Duncan Michael lay. A few moments later, she came up against the sloped stone.

She found something solid beneath her feet again and stood, reaching upwards. Duncan Michael reached down for her, but his hands were just barely out of reach.

Jass's powerful strokes brought him the final distance to Mirjana's side. He reached up, catching hold of the ducal heir's hands. "A' right, lad. I'll need yer help here. Can ye slide down jus' a wee bit?"

Duncan Michael shook his head, tears filling his eyes. "I scared, Mama Miri!" he wailed.

"Shh, poppet. I know you are," she soothed him, glancing anxiously at Jass. "But it's safe and warm upstairs, and there's a lovely dry bed and a fire in the hearth waiting to make you feel much better. You'd like that, sweeting, wouldn't you?"

He nodded.

"All right, my love. Just slide down a little bit, and Sir Jass and I will catch you and bring you home."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"I won't get thrashed?"

Mirjana gave a laughing sob. "You won't get thrashed."

Duncan Michael met her eyes and then trustingly slipped into his rescuers' arms.

#

The Cassani men passed their future Duke up the chain, each man handing the young boy to the next until they had brought him back two-thirds of the way across to the opposite shore. Then one man slipped, plunging himself and his young charge into the icy water, dragging both ends of the human chain downstream a short distance before he managed to regain his footing. Both man and boy gasped for breath, Duncan Michael wailing and clinging to the shaken retainer in terror. The man took a deep steadying breath and then began to pick his way back over the slippery stream bed to pass his squalling burden on to the next man up the chain.

#

The end of the line was now downstream from Mikhail. Fighting the current, Mirjana and Jass began to wade back upstream towards the remaining child. From this vantage point, Mirjana noticed a frightening sight.

The portion of limestone that Mikhail lay upon was not one solid rock ledge like that which had held Duncan Michael, but a pile of smaller bits of brittle rock and rubble sheltered from the water's full force by just a thin spur from the main ledge, and some of the looser stones Mikhail was resting upon were beginning to shift under the boy's added weight. Mikhail lay quietly atop the rubble, his frame racked with shivers, his lips starting to turn blue from the cold.

"We're coming, my heart." She continued to wade in his direction, but the progress was painfully slow, the stream threatening to sweep her off her feet with each step forward she took.

He lifted his eyes to hers. "Is Duncan Michael safe, Mama?"

"Yes, love."

The brown eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry I didn't protect him good enough."

"You saved his life, darling. You are a _very_ brave boy!" She was almost within reach now, a mere four yards away.

The grind of rock grating upon rock, the splash of rocks tumbling into water—an ominous sound.

#

Jass saw the pile of rubble on the near side of Mikhail's ledge start to collapse, saw his weight shift to that side. He surged forward, but Mikhail slipped into the water before either he or Mirjana could reach him, the swift-flowing water dragging the exhausted boy past them both into the dark recesses of the cavern beyond. Mirjana screamed, a piercing, heartbreaking sound, beginning to swim frantically downstream, some of the men on dry land running forward as far as the cavern walls would permit with lighted torches in an effort to assist with the search, but there was no sign of the child. After the human chain had stretched the full distance that it could safely reach, Jass used the last of his remaining energy to pull Mirjana back out of the water, onto the stream's bank, enfolding her in his arms as she sobbed brokenly onto his shoulder. Lord Daivi ran to their side, wrapping a dry blanket around her shoulders, catching her up as her knees gave way and she started to collapse onto the hard ground.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

_ March 12, 1133_

_ Ballymar Castle, Cassan_

"How is she?" Jass MacArdry stood outside the ducal bedchamber talking to the duke's personal physician.

Master Alexander closed the door behind him. "Her Grace is sleeping. I gave her a mild draught to ease her into slumber and it should also help with the muscle aches once she awakens again. I'm more concerned at this point that her grief might cause her to lose her unborn child as well." He frowned. "Any word back from Kierney yet?"

Jass nodded. "A return message go' back just a short bit ago. Th' Duke is on his way home, bringin' th' dowager duchess an' a few o' her maidservants wi' him. He says th' folk in Kierney are havin' th' same winter contagion we've go' here, sae th' Lady Margaret's nae less likely tae catch it if she comes here than if she stays."

Master Alexander nodded. "We'll take some extra precautions in any case, and keep her well apart from the sick-rooms until it's had a chance to run its course." The two men continued on together to the ducal nursery, where Nurse Baillie, looking exhausted, let them in.

Duncan Michael lay sleeping on a pallet, his eyes still puffy from crying. The physician gently reached for the boy's wrist, checking his pulse, then nodded his satisfaction after a short time. He carefully tucked the boy's hand back under his blankets and straightened, looking at the nursemaid. "How has he been doing?

"About as well as can be expected, I s'pose," she whispered, "considerin' th' circumstances. He's had an awfu' fright, poor lad, an' he was whimperin' in his sleep just a bit ago, afore ye came in. An' when he's awake, he's clingy an' wants his Ma, but I dinnae expect she's in any condition just now either…." Her voice trailed off briefly as he shook his head. "An' it's hard tae know in any case if it's th' Duchess Mirjana he's askin' after or his real mother. He still remembers th' late Duchess."

Master Alexander's eyebrows rose. "Does he? I know it's been less than a year since Duchess Catriona's death, but he was so young at the time, it hardly seems likely he'd remember her well after all these months."

Nurse Baillie shrugged. "Well, who knows? They're Deryni, after a'; tha' might make some difference. All I can tell ye is wha' I've seen an' heard, an' I've heard enough frae young master tae think he _does_ remember Duchess Cat, at least a wee bit." Her eyes shone with tears. "He was askin' Father Stiobhan if his real Mama will be takin' care o' wee master Mikhail now tha' they're both in Heaven taegither, jus' like Mikhail's Mama takes care o' him here." Baillie dabbed at her eyes. "I tried tae make out at first tha' Mikhail was just sleepin' in th' next room, but Duncan Michael knows better. There's nae sense in tryin' tae lie tae a Deryni lad, even if he's nobbut three."

Jass glanced across the chamber at where his oldest son lay asleep, Trina and Jarrett lying to either side of him. "An' Ciaran? Does he understand wha's happened?"

The nursemaid turned up her palms. "It's hard tae know for sure, but he's been more quiet than usual, an' last night he woke up cryin'. He knows Mikhail is gone, but I dinnae think he understands exactly wha' tha' means yet. "

The physician also turned his attention to the other sleeping children. "Any new signs of contagion? Fever, cough, sneezing?"

Baillie shook her head. "None today. Duncan Michael was sneezing a bit when he was first returned tae th' nursery, but tha's stopped now, an' he's had nae fever. I think he just caught a bit o' chill bein' in th' cold water. I've kept warm possets in him tae try tae stave off anythin' worse, an' th' same f'r Master Ciaran."

"Good job. Alert me if there are any changes in the children's health—if any others start showing signs of contagion, or if they show signs of any other sort of decline. Some level of anxiety and despondency is to be expected, of course, but if it grows extreme, I need to know." The physician's dark eyes flitted back to the nursemaid. "And don't forget to take care of yourself, either. I know that might be difficult right now, with you being the only nursemaid healthy enough for nursery duty at the moment, but if you need assistance, or especially if you feel like you're becoming sick, I'll have a word with Lord Daivi about reassigning one or two of the maidservants to the nursery for the next few days, at least until Lady Mhairi is back on her feet again, or Lady Ailidh can be spared to return. Aine Rose doesn't seem to have been hit very hard, so I'm hopeful that both will be able to return to the nursery in a few days."

#

_ March 13_

_ Ballymar Castle_

The Duke of Cassan, along with his small retinue of Cassan and Kierney men and the Dowager Duchess Margaret and her maidservants, rode through the gatehouse of Ballymar Castle in the mid-afternoon. Lords Deveril and Daivi met them in the Great Hall, updating them on the latest happenings that had transpired since the first messenger from Ballymar had been sent to Kierney with his sad tidings about the boys' misadventure and Mikhail's fate two evenings earlier.

Dhugal slipped away as soon as he could extract himself from attending to those most urgent questions that couldn't be put off, leaving the settling-in of Margaret's household to Lord Deveril's capable hands and heading upstairs to his private chambers. He opened his bedchamber door. Mirjana was nowhere to be seen.

He checked the solar, but she was not there. Instead, a sleepy Caoilainn, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, informed him that the Duchess had stirred from her chambers only once that morning, to retrieve Duncan Michael from the nursery. He was still with her, she believed, although the young tiring maid had been freed of her morning duties after that, so she had retreated to the privacy of the solar to rest, having been too worried about her mistress and too grief-stricken over young Master Mikhail's loss to sleep well that previous evening.

Dhugal retreated, starting to turn towards the nursery, but a sudden thought made him pause. Instead, he retraced his steps to his bedchamber, walking through the room until he came to the arched doorway on the other side of the bed from the room's main entrance. He opened the door and peeked in.

They lay in the former Duchess's bower, two sleeping forms curled up against each other in the middle of the canopied bed, Mirjana's arm draped protectively around his son as they nestled together. Duncan Michael clutched a small wooden toy against his heart, a brightly colored knight wearing the colors of Marley. With a stab of guilt, Dhugal remembered he had not yet found the time to repaint the toy as he'd promised his stepson that he would. He had thought there would be plenty of time for that upon his return from Kierney.

He sat gently upon the edge of the bed, moving quietly to avoid waking the sleeping pair, and brushed a lock of copper-bronze hair out of his son's eyes. He closed his own eyes, establishing a mental link with his child, viewing Duncan Michael's memories of that tragic afternoon two days earlier. Once he had seen the events for himself, he blurred the boy's recollections slightly in order to help alleviate some of the lingering fear. His son's body relaxed even further in its slumbering state.

He moved his hand towards Mirjana, but before he could do any sort of assessment of her state of mind, she stirred, her eyes fluttering open to stare blankly in front of her for a moment, until recognition slowly stirred and she looked more directly up at him.

She sat up, glancing around the chamber self-consciously. "Duncan Michael was asking for his mother this morning, and of course I could not bring him to her. But I remembered you told me once that she used to bring him to this bower when he was feeling fretful, so I thought maybe being in her former chamber might help him sleep." She lowered her gaze. "I hope you do not mind."

"I don't mind," he assured her quietly, moving his hand down to clasp hers. "Are _you_…all right?" It seemed a painfully inadequate question under the circumstances, but Dhugal didn't know how to express the myriad of thoughts and feelings welling up in him at that moment. Kelson had always been the one who seemed to know just the right sort of thing to say at just the right time. His own father had that gift as well; a fitting enough talent for a man called to the priesthood. Dhugal considered himself more a man of action than of words, but in the face of his wife's profound loss, he hardly knew what action he could take that would help to ease her pain.

Mirjana shrugged. "I hardly know anymore, my lord. I eat, I sleep…." She looked down at the sleeping boy, tears welling up in her eyes. "I try not to let myself think too much, or feel, but it is very difficult."

Dhugal thought back on his own grief after Catriona's death, the following months seeming like endless dreary years to him, going through the motions of life while still emotionally closed off from truly living it. He studied this woman before him, this wife who had come to him a stranger, this fragile being perhaps stronger and more courageous in her own way than any other he'd ever known, who had somehow worked her way past his emotional barriers, teaching him how to live again. How to feel again.

He stood, walked around to the other side of the bed where his son would not lie between them, and enfolded her in his arms. "Mirjana…my heart…I am truly sorry." He lowered his shields, sharing with her without words what he was unable to express with them, allowing himself to be truly known by her for the first time, holding back nothing of himself aside from what few memories he judged might cause her more pain. After a long moment, she gave a quiet sob, lowering her own shields to share her own heart more fully with him, drawing comfort from him even as he shared the burden of her inner anguish. At last, both of them spent, they fell asleep in each other's arms, bound together by a new sense of intimacy more powerful than any mere physical closeness they'd ever shared.

#

_ March 14_

_ Ballymar Castle solar_

The dowager duchess entered the castle solar, her maid Agnes solicitously assisting her as she shuffled slowly into the room leaning on the wheeled walking frame the carpenter in Kierney had built for her once it became apparent she might need some support as she relearned how to walk after her recent apoplectic attack. Margaret moved towards the nearest chair, lowering herself onto it gingerly. Agnes moved the walking frame out of her mistress's way, yet still within arm's reach so that the dowager duchess could easily avail herself of it again once she was ready to leave. Turning towards Mirjana, she gave the Duchess of Cassan a deeply deferential curtsey, surprising her, for Mirjana remembered the maidservant as one who had left Ballymar to join the dowager duchess's household when Margaret had departed for Kierney, not wishing to remain in service to Ballymar's new Torenthi mistress.

Mirjana rose briefly, pushing a platter of tempting sweetmeats across a small table to the end closest to the dowager duchess, for she had heard that Duchess Margaret's appetite had waned somewhat and that the physician was urging her to eat more.

Margaret eyed the platter with a wry smile. "I imagine Master Alexander is after you to eat more as well," she said, giving in and allowing herself a nibble of one dainty fruit pastry. "I am given to understand that you are expecting another child in the early autumn?"

"I am, my lady." Mirjana bent back over her needlework.

The older woman studied the young Duchess thoughtfully. "I heard about the loss of your son. I am truly sorry. I have no children of my own, alas, but I imagine the coming of a new child, no matter how greatly desired, cannot make up for the loss of one that a mother has already come to love."

The younger woman nodded, her eyes downcast. "It cannot."

Margaret's eyes filled with compassion for the grieving mother and shame at her own actions towards her. "I wronged you when last we met, and for that I owe you an apology. Meeting you stirred up a great many old griefs and grievances I had believed long buried, and because of that I judged you unfairly." The older woman studied her hands. "I had thought, given your Torenthi origins and the circumstances under which you married Jared's grandson, that you were not to be trusted, that you would not be a loyal wife to Dhugal nor a trustworthy mother to the heir born from his first Duchess, for I could not imagine that you would put the needs of Cassan over your own personal interests. I was clearly mistaken." She took another bite of the pastry, considering how to broach what she knew to be a sensitive topic, yet she felt compelled to understand what drove this enigmatic young woman her late husband's grandson had married. "Talk among the household says that you could have saved your own son first, but that you chose Duncan Michael instead. Might I ask why?"

The Torenthi woman's eyes flashed as she looked up to meet the dowager duchess's gaze. "They were _both_ my sons. Duncan Michael became my son the moment I married the Duke his father. I did not think at that fateful moment, 'which son shall I save?' What mother could make that choice?" Tears filled her eyes. "I simply saved the one who seemed to be in greater danger, hoping I could reach him first, and I was not able to reach the other one in time."

Agnes, Margaret's maid, looked stricken. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but there were such horrible rumors going round when you first came to Ballymar, folks believing the Duke would be found dead in his bed someday, leaving you as regent, or that you'd kill the young master and set up your own son in his place. It's all utter nonsense, we know that now, but please forgive us for having believed it!" She ducked her head. "My father was hanged by King Wencit's men. I shouldn't have blamed you for that, but I did, and I was right beastly to you when you first arrived. It's just that I was so angry and frightened, I didn't know _what_ to think. We all were." She turned scarlet.

"I would never think to betray the Duke my husband," Mirjana said quietly, "who gave me the chance to rebuild my life when it had fallen into ashes. Nor would I ever harm any of his children, or wish to strip Duncan Michael of his rightful inheritance. But I did not purposely sacrifice my own son to save your ducal heir, though if that is what the people of Cassan must believe in order to think me truly loyal, then let them think what they will; I care not anymore. I can only tell you that if I could have saved _both_ children, even if it meant my own death, I would have. I was a mother before I ever became a Duchess, and it is there where my heart lies." She smiled sadly. "It matters not to me now if Cassan ever accepts me or not. All I ever hoped for was a home where I could live in peace and have some small measure of happiness." She rose and made a quiet exit, unable to bear the condolences of the other ladies any longer, well-meant though she sensed them to be.

#

_ March 14_

_ Ballymar Castle, the Duchess's Bower_

Dhugal was painting the finishing touches on the knight's shield when his wife entered the room. She stared at the wooden toy in shock and dismay.

"I do not understand. Why have you painted Nikos's arms on my son's toy?"

Dhugal gave her a quick, startled glance, feeling chagrined as he realized he should have spoken to Mirjana about his intentions first, but the idea had come to him while she was out, and he had simply acted upon the impulse, not thinking through what her reaction to his actions was likely to be. "I haven't," he assured her. "Well, that is, this armorial device might have _once_ belonged to Lord Nikos von Brustarkia, but he forfeited the right to them, aye?" He glanced down at the wooden knight, hoping he could express in words what had simply felt like the right thing to do, the most fitting way he could think of to honor the young lad who had done his best to protect his younger stepbrother. "Mirjana…." He shook his head, feeling a bit helpless. "Mikhail never lived to be knighted. There's nothing I can do about that. By legal right, I can't even grant him the armorial bearings which should rightfully have been his to inherit…." He raised the knight he held, with its freshly repainted shield. "But I promised the lad I'd help him repaint his knight's shield with arms more fitting…." The Duke's voice choked with emotion and he stopped, unable to go on.

Mirjana realized with a sense of wonder that her husband shared her grief for her son, even if his way of expressing it was far different from her own. "He would be honored that you considered him worthy to bear those arms in your service, I am sure," she assured Dhugal, her voice growing thick with tears as well. "He thought you most heroic."

He favored her with a faint smile. "I thought his hero was 'Sir' Brendan?"

She gave a tearful laugh. "Yes, him as well. But Brendan doesn't have the disadvantage of roses on his shield. Poor Duke Dhugal, having to carry a garland of roses off to battle, not to mention a lion who's sleeping on the job!"

Dhugal set the toy down carefully to dry, gathering his wife into his arms and holding her tenderly as they honored their lost son together through shared memories.

#

_ March 15_

_ Ballymar Castle Chapel_

Mikhail Mahael Vasily Furstán von Brustarkia was sent to his final rest in robes of snowy white, fragrant rosemary and ivy placed around him in token of his innocent purity and integrity, a small wooden knight tucked into the crook of one arm. Father Stiobhan, vested in surplice and white stole, officiated at the funeral, another priest carrying the aspersory filled with holy water. Father Stiobhan sprinkled the body with holy water and began the antiphon, the repetition of verses from the Psalms and the responses of the congregants as they processed into the private chapel of Ballymar Castle. The procession was led by the cross-bearer, carrying a cross with no shaft, symbolic of the child's incomplete life cut short long before he could know the fullness of the seasons of human experience.

The castle's private chapel was full, the grieving family and a few of their closest friends gathered together in the upper gallery while the rest of the Castle household and others wishing to pay their respects were gathered on the ground floor. Bishop Duncan sat in the upper gallery, dressed in the clothing of a nobleman's son and not as a bishop today, for he was not visiting Cassan in his official capacity. For that, he was truly grateful. Even though he had barely had a chance to get to know the young boy whose life was being commemorated, today he wished to be simply part of the family, not the officiant for yet another family funeral. God knows he'd endured far too many of those already!

The coffin was set down a short distance before the altar, four lighted candles placed around it. Father Stiobhan led the congregation in the blessing of Mikhail's body, chanting the Kyrie and beginning the Lord's Prayer, allowing the gathered mourners time to continue the prayer silently, contemplating it in their hearts, before sprinkling the child's body a second time and incensing it then continuing with the rite of blessing. Duncan's mind registered the comforting cadences of the familiar rite on one level, but after a short while his attention moved to his son and his wife. Dhugal, holding Mirjana's hand, whispered something to her quietly; her face, completely veiled in mourning, turned towards him as he spoke. Duncan noticed that she was wearing the Eastern style of veiling that she had favored when she had first come to Rhemuth. Under the circumstances, he could understand why; the Torenthi veil offered her more privacy in her grief. Dhugal lifted his wife's fingers to his lips, bestowing a brief kiss on her fingertips before clasping her hand between both of his own. He turned his attention back to the priest below, though before he turned away, Duncan noticed that his son's eyes were filled with more than mere concern and kindness when he gazed at his grieving wife. No, if he wasn't mistaken, his son had learned how to love his new bride. Duncan felt a slight twinge, but he was also glad for the young couple. Mirjana would need a husband's strength, someone she could trust with everything in her heart over the coming days as she struggled to cope with this new loss, and as for Dhugal, Duncan was grateful he had been able to pick up the shattered pieces of his life and start afresh after Catriona's death. Duncan was still learning, in his own way, how to come to terms with that loss. Grief, he had discovered over the years, was such an individual thing, and everyone coped with it in his or her own way.

His way, unfortunately, took him along a lonelier path than his son's. But that was hardly a new road for him to travel either. He had been down it once before, after he'd learned of Maryse's death, and had faced very similar struggles and questions, arguments with God in that dark night of the soul, but had come through in the end forged stronger, if a bit more scarred.

Man was not meant to be alone, Cat would have argued. On this point, Duncan had to agree. He made a mental note to seek out Alaric once he returned to Rhemuth. Alaric had returned to Coroth in late February, but would surely be back in Rhemuth within the next week or so, returning with his family in time for Easter Court. It had been a while since Duncan had taken the opportunity to spend a quiet evening with his cousin, chatting over a pint or three.

Forcing his attention back to the present, the bishop realized that Father Stiobhan had finished with the prayer of blessing, and it was now time for the funeral procession to continue down to the family crypt. The singing of the antiphon began anew, the psalms of praise ascending heavenwards, a celebration of the young life now returned to his Creator, the chants of priest and congregants proclaiming joy and the hope of eventual reunion despite the present grief of loved ones left behind.

#

_ March 25 (Lady Day, the Feast of the Annunciation)_

_ Chapel Royal, Rhemuth_

Duchess Mirjana paused briefly to light a votive candle before the shrine of the Virgin Mother whose holy day it was before moving towards the prie-dieu to offer up her prayers. With a start, she realized someone was already there, although the man rose to his feet just at that moment, turning towards her and looking equally surprised as he recognized who was behind him.

"Father," she murmured as she smiled at Duncan through her veil. "I do beg pardon; I had not meant to startle you. I can return at another time."

"No, I was finished." The bishop's blue eyes studied his daughter-in-law in concern. He bowed over her hand. "I heard you had arrived in Rhemuth just last night. I hope you're doing well—under the circumstances, that is—and that Easter Court won't prove too taxing for you. I'm sure Kelson would have excused your appearance this year, given your recent loss."

Mirjana shook her head. "There is no need. I did not wish to leave Cassan much earlier; Mikhail's birthday would have been on the nineteenth, just four days after his funeral, and I could not have borne to have come to Rhemuth then. We spent the day privately. But Dhugal needed to be here on this day." She glanced at the other lit candle on the votive stand. "I am certain you understand. Today was his first Duchess's birthday, and since she is interred here..." She gave an expressive shrug. "Dhugal is taking the children to pay their respects to their mother. And I, too, pay mine in my own way." Her clear green eyes, so similar to Catriona's, smiled up at him. "Will you be officiating at Easter Mass tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Not here, but at Saint Hilary's, yes. I'll have the sunrise Mass."

"How appropriate." Mirjana studied her father-in-law for a long moment, noting the sadness in his eyes. She felt a sudden kinship with him that had little to do with her marriage to his son. "I shall look forward to that, then," she said softly. "This is my nineteenth Easter, but I feel like I have never understood its true meaning until now. When I was a young girl, our chaplain spoke on Easter morning about the hope and power of the Resurrection. I thought I understood what he meant about the power of it—a risen Savior would be a most powerful miracle, would it not?—but I never truly understood what he meant by the _hope _until now." Her eyes filled with tears. "I miss my son nearly every waking moment. His loss hurts, but it's not a hopeless kind of hurting. There _is_ more than just this pain-filled life, isn't there, Father?"

He smiled. "I believe there is." A rueful chuckle. "Let's hope there is; I've certainly spent a lot of years hunting up a cold trail if we're both wrong."

"I have faith that we are not, yet even if we are, at least I know my son's life was not in vain."

Duncan thought of his grandson, still alive because of young Mikhail's actions, and slowly nodded his head. He drew the young woman into his arms, holding her close. His new daughter-in-law was so very different from his first, yet with her words he felt a little of the pain of his soul-friend's loss begin to ease. "No, it wasn't in vain. And yes, Easter is a celebration of life and hope. Sometimes, in the midst of life's tragedies, even a bishop needs reminding of that." He kissed the top of her veiled head tenderly, causing her to give him a startled look. She glanced over her shoulder self-consciously.

"There is no one who would misconstrue, I hope, since you are a respectable bishop..." Her cheeks, only dimly glimpsed beneath the Torenthi style veil she still wore, turned a dusky shade of rose.

Duncan chuckled, glancing at the ducal coronet she wore over her veil, then back into her eyes. "You're the Torenthi duchess of Cassan and I'm your Deryni bishop father-in-law with a legitimate son I abdicated my ducal title in favor of. Chances are we'd be well enough recognized here in the heart of Rhemuth. Who else in Gwynedd has a family history that confused?"

Mirjana laughed, taking a step back from her priestly father-in-law. "At least in Torenth no Duke has an aunt for a sister. Even Imre and Ariella didn't manage to complicate the Furstán lineage _that_ badly, my lord!"

He raised his eyebrows, then gave her a teasing grin. "At least the McLain family tree actually forks, my dear lady!" The bishop took his leave, a smile still lighting his eyes. Behind him, Mirjana knelt to offer up her prayers, entreating a Heavenly Mother to watch over her precious son Mikhail and her other son yet unborn, and adding her prayers for the peaceful repose of that other mother whose children remained in her care in this life here below.

#

_ Epilogue_

_ September 19, 1133_

_ Ballymar Castle_

"Congratulations, Your Grace! You have a fine, healthy son." The midwife handed the freshly bathed and swaddled baby to his proud father. "And what do you plan to name this one?"

Dhugal glanced at his tired but happy wife for confirmation. "His name is Jared. Jared Liam Mikhail MacArdry McLain."

A slight shadow of sorrow crossed Mirjana's features at the reminder of her firstborn son, but she nodded, smiling up at her husband. They had discussed various name options during the preceding months, but had kept coming back to the same three.

Dhugal returned his newborn son to Mirjana, who cradled him to her breast, stroking the fine black hair above his brow, so like her eldest son's had been when he was born. The dark-lashed eyes fluttered open, revealing eyes of an indeterminate color—not quite the usual blue of most newborns, yet not dark brown like Mikhail's had been even from birth. The tiny lids closed again, preventing her from making a closer examination. No matter, they would settle on a color soon enough. Mirjana hoped he would have his father's eyes. That amber shade would look quite striking in contrast with the jet black of his hair.

Now that the new mother was safely settled back onto her comfortable bed, the midwife moved to the other side of the Duchess's bower to allow the couple a bit more privacy, turning her attention to sponging off and breaking down the birthing stool instead. Dhugal perched on the side of Mirjana's mattress, gazing fondly down at his sleepy wife and nursing son. "Shall I let you rest for a few hours before I bring the little hellions in?" Dhugal teased the tired mother. "Duncan Michael's quite looking forward to meeting his new 'birthday brother,' and Trina's tried to run off from the nursery three times this morning looking for you. Lady Mhairi's about ready to lock her up in the dungeon, I think."

"I should try to catch up on my sleep, then," Mirjana agreed. "Maybe you can bring them up to see us after supper."

"All right, then." Dhugal glanced across the room, but the midwife still had her back turned. He bent briefly to brush a kiss across Mirjana's lips, then stroked a finger through his new son's hair. "I love you, sweeting." The words were still hard for him to say out loud, but he could say them now. Mirjana had needed the words, and as for himself...

He had needed Mirjana. Not for the reasons he'd thought originally, although he was grateful for the birth of his spare heir. No, he had needed her healing touch. And so, for that matter, had Cassan and Kierney.

The Deryni healer smiled down at his wife. There were ways of bringing about healing—whether to a man or to his people—that had nothing to do with medical knowledge or Deryni powers. Mirjana had taught him that.

Life goes on, with both its sorrows and its joys. What mattered most was how one chose to live it. Even Mirjana's firstborn, young as he'd been, had managed to grasp that simple fact.

Dhugal had merely survived for a while after his first wife's death, but now he chose to live, taking each moment as it came.

He touched his newborn's cheek. Jared turned his small face upwards, opening his eyes to meet his father's gaze.

###


End file.
